Death Takes a Wife
by TheAngryTori
Summary: A young sorceress just wants to make it through school without incident; but when a friend coaxes her to the Hallow's Eve dance, she discovers a dark secret among the professors. In the chaos, what she thought was her childhood imaginary friend makes a reappearance and proves himself to be real; he is the personification of Death...and he's been waiting for her.
1. The Skeleton in the Book

Author's Note: Hey guys! Long time no see. I know, I know, I should be working on my five million other stories, rather than starting another new one. But I promise I'll be getting back to the others soon. I haven't forgotten them, I just can't get this one out of my head and I really wanted to share it with you all! Chapter 2 is almost complete, and should be posted over the next day or two.

I can't even express how excited I am about this one. I hope you guys will like it, too! Happy Halloween!

* * *

Chapter One: _The Skeleton in the Book_

Tristan Kells was on the path to becoming the Stavos Magical Institute's top student. From an affluent magical family, he was naturally gifted in production magic. Handsome and wealthy, he was popular among his fellow students. Kind-hearted and charming, he was well liked by every professor. This rare combination of traits ensured his admittance into the advanced classes, despite his young age—such as Control and Wielding, which was currently meeting in Training Room C on the fourth floor of Echo Hall.

Tristan Kells was also dumber than a box of rocks.

Myrand stifled a sigh, kneeling on the ground with a towel and mopping up the puddle of blood on the floor of Training Room C. Tristan had been injured by his own backfiring spell, attempting to impress his fellow classmates with something far more advanced than anything he could yet handle. From the smell and the lingering static in the air, Myrand guessed he had been playing with lightning; and now she was stuck cleaning up his mistake before the blood stained the pearly white stone floor.

"Now, then," Professor Lehman droned from the opposite side of the room, where the class had relocated after Tristan's accident, "let us review. Who can explain to me the difference between manipulation and production magic?"

With a roll of her eyes, Myrand tossed the ruined towel aside and fished her brush out of the clean bucket. She could have answered that question as a child, before she ever came to attend the Institute. After a few fumbling attempts at answers, Baric Pith finally spoke up. "Manipulation magic uses natural forces to effect people and objects, and production magic _creates _objects."

"Very good, Baric," Lehman praised. "Production is creation _ex nihilo_. What does ex nihilo mean?"

"Out of nothing," Myrand breathed, too softly to be heard over the sound of her brush scrubbing away at the stone.

Several moments later, Kathryne Spint repeated, "Out of nothing?"

"Exactly right, Kathryne. Exactly right. And who can explain why manipulation is more difficult than production?"

Myrand glanced up at the group of students and their professor, seated in a circle atop a nest of pillows and cushions. She sighed at the blank looks on their faces. Box-of-rocks Tristan Kells was too busy cradling his healing arm to answer, though she had covered this exact question with him just days ago. She flicked a drop of water, watching it soar across the room and land right in his eye. His head shot up and he whipped around before finally spotting her. She wondered if he had even known she was in here.

She pulled a face, trying to get him to remember their lesson.

"Uh, professor? Like, production is easy 'cause it's reliant on yourself? But then manipulation is, like… Like, it's like trying to get someone to do you a favor, but they don't wanna do it."

"Excellent analogy, Tristan! Truly stellar. Now then, let's practice some more, erm, _guided_ manipulation. Let's see…what can we use..?"

Tristan leaned back on his cushion and winked at Myrand with a roguish grin. She rolled her eyes and looked back down at the ground, scrubbing away the last of the blood.

"Oh, excellent! Maid! Oh, maid!"

She snapped her head up, surprised to be addressed by Professor Lehman. She scrambled to her feet, head bowed and hands clasped together. "How may I aid you, professor?"

"We have need of water. Are you finished with your bucket there, or must I ask you to fetch another?"

"I-I am done here, professor."

"Wonderful, child. Bring it here," he ordered, and she obeyed, heaving up the heavy oaken bucket and awkwardly carrying it to the group, setting it down beside the stout, old, bearded man. Then she scurried away, snatching up the brush and bloodied towels. She tried to make a clean getaway, but her boot slid on the wet stone and she fell. Slowly and carefully, she got back to her feet and left Training Room C, ignoring the laughs and snickers that followed her out.

Myrand made a hasty retreat to the nearest library, where she had been cleaning until she received Professor Lehman's summons. She felt the room, looking over the magical seals and enchantments that coated the walls and floor, making sure no one had entered since she'd left. When she knew she was alone, she lit the bloody towels on fire, burning them to ash.

"…_Or must I ask you to fetch another?"_ she mocked, imitating Lehman. "Old coot could have magicked the bucket over himself, instead of making me carry it." With a wave of her hand, she set her cleaning supplies to work on their own, scrubbing floors and washing windows and dusting the endless shelves. "Then again, if that's the way he _teaches_ wielding, he probably can't have lifted that bucket…"

She ran a hand through her short black hair with a sigh, heading up the main stairway to the second floor of the library and returning to her seat in the back, tucked behind the shelves. "He could at _least_ have thanked me, though," she muttered, clutching her favorite book to her chest.

Echo Hall contained the smallest of the Institute's libraries; it was not staffed, it was rarely used, and people almost never entered while she was cleaning. The enchantments she used to clean the room would break the moment someone crossed the threshold, keeping any wandering initiates from catching a maid using such advanced spells.

High-class families were fond of having magically-gifted servants in their employ; it was a status symbol more than anything, and the servants were rarely educated to the extent of being able to wield their magic to aid in their tasks. There was always the risk of magical servants rebelling violently to any mistreatment; stories of such episodes were abundant in the city-state of Stavos. Thus, the best magical servants came from the Stavos Magical Institute, where along with learning the skills and tasks necessary to keep a household clean and healthy, they were also taught to control and suppress their magic, to keep it from overpowering them during fits of rage.

Servants were not permitted to attend regular classes, instead receiving specialized education once a month, or whenever a kindly professor chose to take time out of his or her schedule to teach them. There must be a shortage of kindly professors these days; in all her years at the Institute, Myrand had only seen this happen twice.

Very shortly after being thrust into servitude at the Institute, Myrand had taken her education into her own hands, sneaking into this very library late at night, reading about magical theory and practicing spells whenever she had the chance. In a matter of months, she had mastered cleaning spells, which she utilized whenever no one else was around. And her work was always excellent, with or without magic, so she required no supervision.

For the past three years, this library had always been assigned to her. No one else could clean the sprawling maze of bookshelves faster or more thoroughly on their own. And for three years, she had never been caught using magic to do so. She could sit back, further her education, and have some time to herself. It was her favorite part of the day.

She continued to read books on magic most days, even though she had long since learned all that this library had to teach her. But it had been a long week and an even longer day, and all she wanted was to curl up here in her favorite chair with her favorite book; so she did.

She flipped through the well-worn pages, knowing it had been her own fingers that created every crease and every smudge. The text had been in pristine condition when she first picked it up, an aged volume describing the mythos of the pantheon of the ancient inhabitants of the Denaire continent.

And his picture was in it.

Just as she flipped to his picture, she felt her magic give out and heard the library doors open. She jumped to her feet, calling a feather duster to her hand and pretending to be dusting the shelves.

"Randy! Hey, Randy! You in here?"

She sighed, dropping her arm to her side. Should have known it was _him_… She hurried to the stairs, leaning over the railing to make sure that Tristan was alone. "What do you want, Kells?"

He looked up with big, brown eyes, holding up his injured arm. "Can you heal this for me, Rand?"

She laughed, skipping down the steps to him. "Let me see it." She took his arm in her hands, examining the pink, puckered skin and the awkward angle at which he held it. "Damn, who treated this?"

"Lehman."

"_Tsk_. That old fool. You're lucky not to have lost the arm."

"Yeah, well, he had some choice words to say about you, too. You and your oh-so-graceful exit."

Myrand frowned. "I'm sorry, did you say you wanted me to _heal_ this arm, or _amputate_ it?"

"Hey, c'mon Rand, don't be like that! You wouldn't do that…would you?"

She shrugged, turning and heading back up the stairs.

"Hey, are you gonna heal me or not?"

"It's _already healed_!" she called over her shoulder, not needing to see his face to recognize his surprise.

"Whoa! Thanks, Randy! You're the best, you know that?" He jogged up the stairs after her. "Hey, could you actually amputate an arm if you wanted?"

She smirked, waving a hand to set everything back to cleaning. "If I did, you'd still be better off than with Lehman."

He laughed. "You're alright, Randy. It's too bad you're just a maid, really. You're better than most of our professors."

She forced a smile, knowing he meant it as a compliment. "Thanks. I'll see you around, Kells."

He grinned and turned to go. "Yeah, sure. Hey, speaking of which, are you going to the dance this weekend?"

"_Ugh_. I don't know…" she groaned.

"Oh, come on! You never go to any of the dances! And it's just the Hallow's Eve dance; you're so morbid and broody, you'd fit right in!"

She laughed at that. "Well, you have a point there! Okay, I'll think about it. Who knows? It might even be fun."

He pumped his fist, triumphant. "Great, Randy! I'll see you there!" He turned and headed down the stairs, but she called out and stopped him.

"I'll go on one condition, Kells: that you don't mess with any more lightning! I don't have many friends, and I'd prefer not to mop any more of their blood off the floor. Just because I can wield it, doesn't mean that you can."

"Alright, it's a deal!" he called back with a sheepish grin. "It's just… You just make it look so easy!"

She waved him off, relaxing once the library doors closed behind him. There was still nearly an hour left before she would be expected to have finished cleaning here, so she snatched up the book and flipped back to the page, his picture.

It wasn't exactly as she knew him. She ran her finger over the line she had scribbled in, years ago, to make his teeth jagged, sharp, and pointed; and she had inked in to show the bright blue light that shone from his eye sockets. Other than that, the grinning skeleton in a black robe, sword held tight by claw-like finger bones, with a pair of huge, black, feathered wings sprouting from his back… It was just as she remembered him.

The book named him Thanatos. She knew him simply as Death.

"Where are you?" she murmured to the image, as though he could hear her. "I miss you so."

The wind howled past the window behind her, and she jumped and whirled to look. The way the purple and gold curtains billowed toward her reminded her of his deep black cape, blowing in the wind. She smiled softly, running her fingers over the picture of the skeleton in her book.

When she had first come to the Institute, they had put her through intensive counseling, along with her new duties as a maid, to purge her of the silly notion that she could see and speak with Death. After four months, they had her convinced of her own insanity, though her sessions continued through the rest of the year. She had managed to forget him and suppress the memories, until she found this book two years ago, and everything came rushing back. It was nearly impossible now to tell what of her memories was real, and what had been imagined. As they had taught her, she usually told herself it was all imaginary.

But sometimes she would see things, like shapes in billowing curtains, or two shining blue lights from the darkest corner of the room; or she would hear her name whispered late at night, when everyone was sleeping. Then she would loosen her grip on the rigid structure of reality her counselors had constructed for her, and immerse herself in the possibility that maybe—just maybe—he was real. And maybe he missed her, too.

Dirges and laments reminded her of him, and she had learned as many of them that she could, to sing in the hope that he might hear her and finally reveal himself after all these years. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes and sang her favorite, The Dirge of Saint Aron, as the wind howled along and the curtains moved and swayed.

She failed to notice that the window was closed, and there was no draft to sway them.


	2. Night of the Dance

Author's Note: Wow, hello! Thank you guys so much for giving this story a chance. I can't believe how many people have already followed and favorited and reviewed this, just based on the first chapter! That is WAY more than I was expecting. You guys are just tremendous. Thank you. I hope that this chapter doesn't disappoint!

Also, I want to be honest with you guys: this is my first time posting something like this, that isn't reliant on a previously established universe/fandom. It's very exciting to get to create my own world and populate it; but it's also a bit terrifying. I'm new at this, so any comments and/or criticism that you may have would be greatly appreciated! I really want make sure that I'm writing something worth reading here. So I hope you enjoy chapter two, and please let me know what you think!

* * *

Chapter Two: _Night of the Dance_

Myrand knew that it shouldn't be taking her this long to decide what to wear, especially given that she only owned one non-uniform dress. And yet, she had spent ten minutes staring at herself in the mirror, trying to decide whether she should keep it on and go to the dance, or take it off and crawl into bed. They both seemed like such good options…

She could hardly dance, she didn't have many friends, and by now Tristan had likely forgotten having asked her to go.

On the other hand, she _loved_ this dress.

It was a crisp white, prettily contrasted against her light brown skin. With a neckline cut straight across, it showed off the coffee-colored freckles that covered her shoulders and chest, and crept up her neck and face. She spun in a circle, loving the way the mid-length skirt flared up and out. It was rather plain for a Hallow's Eve dance; but it highlighted her curves in just the right way, and even she had to admit she looked good.

She ran her fingers through her short black hair with a sigh, wishing it were just a little bit longer so that maybe she'd have a chance at styling it. But not even magic could tame her unruly curls.

There was a gentle knock at the door. "Myra? The cab is here. Are you coming?"

Myrand waved a hand and the door eased open, revealing Béa standing there in an elegant emerald dress and matching silk gloves, her golden tresses styled neatly atop her head. She looked stunning and regal, as befitting the Institute's Head Maid.

Béa _knew_. Béa knew about Myrand's magic. Béa knew who Myrand's parents were. Béa knew, but she _never_ told.

"Oh, my word. _Look_ at you, Myra!"

Myrand laughed nervously, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles from her dress. "I still don't know if I'm going or not."

"Darling. Myrand. You _have_ to go, looking like that!"

"Yes, well… You know I'm no good in crowds, Béa." She sighed heavily. "I don't know… But please, don't wait for me. If I decide to go, I'll just meet you all there."

Béa laughed softly. "You are a beautiful woman, Myra. But if you do not want to share that beauty with everyone…I will _try_ to understand." She took two steps forward and kissed Myrand on the cheek, instantly making her feel like a shy, scared, fifteen-year-old girl once again. Béa started to go, but paused at the door. "If you do 'meet us there', just be careful where you turn up, alright? No one can see you."

Myrand rolled her eyes. "Yes, _mother_…"

Béa's smile was sad, but genuine. "It would be...an _honor_ to have you for a daughter."

Myrand closed her eyes tightly, wrapping her arms around her own waist. This dress had been her mother's. If the memories were real, he had helped her pack her things before seeing her off to the Institute, and had tucked the dress into her bag without her noticing. That had been the last time she saw him. "I love you, Béa." Heavens, that was strange. How many years had it been since she'd said that word?

"I love you too, star child."

By the time Myrand looked up, Béa was gone.

She rubbed at her eyes angrily until all hint of tears were gone, and glared into the mirror. The redness around her eyes made her green irises look even more piercing.

"He is _not_ real." Some days, that was easier to remember.

Myrand padded over to the bed, tugging on a pair of black nylon hose and slipping into her black lace-up boots—the only pair of shoes she owned. She would go to the dance, and have fun, and forget about him.

After some makeup, a set of silver hoop earrings, and several more minutes trying to do _something_ with her hair, she felt ready to go. She had a pair of long black gloves that extended up past her elbows, and put the left one on. She would need the right hand free to draw the spell.

She dug through her desk drawer until she found her last piece of salt chalk. It was little more than a stub; but she was set to clean Echo's alchemical lab three days from now, where she would hopefully be able to make more. She would just have to make this one last until then.

She knelt on the ground, drawing a circle on the ground, and all of the necessary symbols to take her where she needed to go. She wished it didn't take her so long, but transportation magic was a tricky thing, and one she had particular difficulty with. It was by far her weakest subject, and she needed it to be precise so no one would see her, so she took her time to make it exact. She was headed to the opposite end of campus, the absolute westernmost building.

When the circle was done, she pricked her finger on a needle, letting the blood drip onto the chalk. She had to shield her eyes at the ring of red light that burst into existence on her floor. She kept no enchantments or spells in her small bedroom; she could _see_ the damned things, and she had learned very early on that it was impossible to sleep with even the simplest protection spells glowing all along the walls. Fortunately, transportation spells were one-use only, so she wouldn't need to clean it up when she got back.

She healed the cut on her finger, and pulled on the other glove, tucking the last of her salt chalk down into the sleeve of the glove, so she could use it for the return trip if need be. Then she stepped into the center of the ring, careful not to disturb or smudge any of the lines, and snapped her fingers.

In the next moment, she was safely planted in the shadows on the south side of Stellar Hall. Myrand glanced up at the sky with a smile. The wind was fierce, whipping her skirt around; but the skies were clearly and the stars were shining, brighter than she'd seen them in some time.

She darted out of the grass and around the corner to the front of the building, where cars were parked all along the driveway, waiting to take students back to their dormitories at the end of the night. She must be later than she thought, though that wasn't a bad thing; no one was around to have witnessed her sudden appearance and ask uncomfortable questions, save for one of the drivers.

Apparently one of the students had hired a full-blown carriage, and its driver was struggling to coax the horses into the barn next door. It was old and out of use, and the horses were having none of it. She wanted to help, but it was cold outside, and horses in general made her uncomfortable and afraid. Instead, she darted up the steps, under the statue of what was supposed to be her mother, and through the heavy oak doors of Stellar Hall.

Music could be heard from the moment she walked through the door, though there was still a ways to go before she reached the main ballroom. She walked slowly, shivering and wishing she had thought to bring a jacket, and trying to convince herself not to turn around and go back to her room and bed. But she had come all this way…

Myrand rounded another corner and froze. The main ballroom doors were wide open, light and music and laughter pouring out into the hallway. She did not belong here.

She took a step back, ready to bolt, but was stopped by a cry of, "_Randy!_ There you are!"

Just her luck. Tristan was waiting at the door for her, a pretty, dark-haired girl on his arm. Myrand plastered on a smile and pretended not to have just been trying to escape.

"Kells. Sorry I'm late. I didn't actually think you'd notice…"

He clutched at his chest as though wounded. "That hurts, Randy! Of course I noticed! We had a deal, remember?"

She laughed, stepping forward to embrace her friend. "Of course I remember." She let him go, glancing at his date.

The girl was young, maybe in her second year. Myrand had seen her around, but they'd never spoken. "Hello, there. I don't believe we've met. I'm Myrand." She smiled and held out a hand for the younger girl to shake.

"Oh! Right, sorry! Sylvie, this is Myrand. Randy, this is my girlfriend, Sylvie!"

The small girl grinned widely, her bright eyes sparkling, taking Myrand's hand in both of hers. "I'm so glad to finally meet you; Tris has told me so much!"

"Has he?" Myrand laughed nervously.

"Only the bad things." Tristan said with a grin, draping his arm across his girlfriend's shoulders.

"Oh, well, in that case…" Myrand laughed. "Look, are we gonna stand out here all night? 'Cause if so, we're all a bit overdressed…"

"Oh, save us your snark, Rand. _We_ were waiting on _you_, remember?" He put his other arm around Myrand's shoulders, guiding the three of them into the ballroom. "Would you look at me? Here with the two prettiest girls at the party. Could I _be_ any more popular? _Ow!_"

Both girls elbowed him at the same time. Myrand leaned forward and grinned at Sylvie. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

"I was just thinking the same thing!"

"Oh, no," Tristan groaned. "I should've known you two would gang up on me!"

* * *

The dance was going far better than Myrand had anticipated. She knew enough people there to keep from feeling out of place, but the crowd was large enough that she could hang back and watch without being missed.

Early on, Béa spotted her from the dance floor, twirling in the arms of Professor James, who everyone knew was sweet on her. Béa caught her eye and grinned, and Myrand gave a sarcastic little curtsy in response.

Armand Fero, a quiet and gentle young man with skin so dark it was nearly black, asked her to dance. She tried to tell him that she didn't really know how, but he said he didn't mind. She did try her best, and he graciously pretended not to notice when she made a mistake or stepped on his feet, but he didn't ask her to dance again. No one did, but that was okay.

She ended up sitting with Sylvie in one of the quieter corners of the room. Sylvie wasn't shy, but she was introverted and entirely averse to being dragged along beside her boyfriend to see and talk to everyone in the room. So the two girls hung back and people-watched.

"Oh, look, look," Myrand whispered, gesturing to a group a few tables away. "Someone's trying to talk to _Revah_!"

Revah Coleman was, across the board, the prettiest girl in school. The Colemans were one of the wealthiest families in Stavos; but Revah's father had run off to Therio, one of the most highly populated cities in the continent of Baela, something like thirty years ago. There he had met and married Revah's mother; and the rumor was that he blew through all of his money and ended up cut off from the family and their wealth. Destitute, Revah was sent back to Denaire to be brought up by her grandparents, who sent her off to work as a maid in the Institute as soon as she turned fifteen.

Myrand remembered sitting up with her all night when she first got here, trying to calm the sobbing girl and convince her that working as a servant was not the end of the world. But Revah had inherited the lush black hair, olive skin, almond eyes, and elegant accent of the Baelans. The girl had no problem gaining friends and popularity, and she never bothered to speak with Myrand again.

"Oh, that's Michael Bannon," Sylvie whispered conspiratorially. "He's in my level. Poor thing must not know any better…"

Myrand and Sylvie watched carefully, making sympathetic noises when the young man went shuffling off, Revah and her friends openly laughing at his retreating form.

"I heard that Revah will inherit all of her grandmother's money when she dies, since her dad has been disowned," Sylvie commented quietly.

Myrand nodded, taking a sip of her hot apple cider. "Yeah, I've heard that, too. But supposedly, as soon as she graduates from here, she has to serve as a maid in her grandmother's house, or she won't get a penny."

"Wow. What a strange family…"

"If I were her, I wouldn't bother—I'd just go do whatever I wanted. Elaine Coleman is a tough old bird; that lady will outlive us all!"

Sylvie laughed, and they fell into companionable silence for a while. Myrand was taking another drink of cider when Sylvie gasped harshly.

"Oh my Greatness! Myrand, don't freak out, but _Baric Pith_ is headed this way. Oh, he is so…dreamy!"

Myrand barked out a laugh, nearly spitting cider all over herself. "Did you really just _say_ that?"

She had to admit, though; if the word "dreamy" could be applied to anyone at this school, it was Baric Pith. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a million-dollar smile; he was an athlete, king of the Institute's parrotball team, with arms nearly as thick as Myrand's thigh and infinitely more defined. And when he strode over to their table, flashed a grin, and asked Myrand to dance…well, even _she_ couldn't help but say yes, even at the risk of making a fool of herself with her lack of ability.

He held her close as they spun around the floor—so close that she had little room to misstep. He was excellent at leading, and actually managed to make her seem adequate.

"You should wear dresses more often, Myrand," he crooned. "You look beautiful tonight."

"Oh! Umm…t-thank you," she muttered, biting back her usual "don't tell me what to do" and "I _am_ beautiful, the dress has nothing to do with it" responses. No, that would be the wrong reaction; Baric Pith was not one to be corrected.

He smiled softly, likely pleased at the stuttering mess he'd made her. Honestly, she was just surprised that he knew her name. "I remember when you first came here," he confided. "It was only a month after I did. And I thought you were pretty _then_… Good Greatness, look at you now."

She laughed nervously, not quite sure how to process this new information. "When I got here, I was a gangly, too-tall, freckled mess," she tried to remind him.

"Prettiest mess I've seen…" he murmured.

Myrand glanced around, noticing that he was steadily leading them toward the open doors that led out to the balcony, overlooking the forest behind Stellar Hall. Immediately, she switched to the defensive. It wouldn't be the first time that a male student pretended to be interested in her just to embarrass her in front of his friends for a laugh—not the second or third time, either, though those hadn't been nearly as successful as the first. And if that wasn't the case, and he thought she would be an easy lay because she was a maid and he was charming… Well, he was in for a surprise.

"…And you may have been gangly then," he continued, "but you've filled out quite nicely, if I may say so."

They were through the doors now. Myrand laughed bitterly, chewing on her lip and pushing away from him. "Alright. What is it that you _want_, Pith? I don't even really want to _be_ here tonight; I'm certainly in no mood for games."

He at least had the grace to look confused. "I-I'm not sure what you mean…"

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll be seeing you around, then." She turned to leave; but he grabbed her arm and tugged her back, pushing her up against the brick wall.

"_Don't_ walk away from me, darling." He leaned in, whispering in her ear, "_I know your secret_…"

She narrowed her eyes, frowning. "If you know about my magic, then you'll know _better_ than to lay your hands on _me_."

He only laughed at her thinly veiled threat. "Oh, darling… I'm not talking about _that_ secret." He grinned, releasing her and taking two steps back. "I know who you are, Myrand Oria… Or should I say Myrand Stavos?"

Shit.

She laughed, pretending not to be too surprised. Baric's father, Benet Pith, was one of the Institute's most tenured professors, and would surely have had access to her file. It was no great surprise that he knew. "Congratulations, you found me out. What, has daddy been babbling in his cups again?"

He slapped her. The strength of those powerful arms sent her to her knees, and she could feel the blood beading from the split in her lip. With a smirk, she fished the piece of salt chalk from the sleeve of her glove as Baric began his tirade.

"You're a little bitch, do you know that? But you _are _pretty. And you _do_ have power! Now, me... I'm about to turn twenty-one, which means I'll be taking my Exit Exams soon. And I gotta say, I'd be feelin' a lot more confident about them if I had your magic to back me up."

She snarled up at him. "You don't have the skill to take my magic from me."

"No, but you have the skill to give it to me. And you will. Or I will expose _all_ of your secrets."

"If you know so much about me, then you know what happened to the last boy who tried to blackmail me," she snapped, trying to distract him from noticing the quick circle she drew on the ground. It wasn't much—just simple enough to take her to another part of the building. But she just needed to get away from him, so she could think…

"What, you mean that Raddle kid? The one who dropped dead as soon as he stepped off campus? No, no, I was here for that too… I know you didn't kill him, like they say. It was just a coincidence. They sent you back to counseling for _months_; you were more bothered by it than anyone else." He laughed, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and peering down his nose at her. "And anyway, it's just for the day of my exams… Unless I decide to keep it, who knows? I make no guarantees. It's not like you need it anyway. You're just a maid."

She wiped the blood from her lip and pressed her fingers to the chalk, grateful that he couldn't see the enchantment ignite, glowing red. She jumped to her feet, certain to stand within the circle. "My mother's name wasn't Stavos, you vile fool. It's _Stavia_. And I am not _just a maid_."

She snapped her fingers, glad for the chance to see the surprise on his face before she disappeared.


	3. The Storm

**Possible Trigger Warning**: This chapter very briefly covers one character's intent to rape another. It doesn't go much further than that, and I tried to make it as implicit as possible. I don't think it's bad, but I understand that anything can be triggering and I want to be careful. It is my intention for all of you to feel comfortable reading this story. And if that or anything else in this or any other chapter causes difficulty for you, please let me know and I will do my best to change it.

Author's Note: Hello again! Sorry I was gone for so long. It's because I was working on this behemoth of a chapter! I apologize if it's _too_ long, but I didn't want to interrupt the momentum/flow. Also, NMBC-Sally asked for an appearance from our elusive male lead, so I didn't want to end it before he showed up. Let me just say, my baby knows how to make an _entrance_. But don't let me spoil it for you...

Also, thank you a million times over to Drachegirl14 for giving me one of the most constructive and specific reviews I've ever received. That was _way_ more than I was anticipating, and was very helpful in the writing of this chapter. Hopefully I managed to answer some of your questions. I promise that as this story goes along, more and more of Myrand's world will be revealed.

Also, I need to point out that this chapter mentions the standard unit of measure in this world, which are called "lengths". For reference, one length is about half of a meter, or one and a half feet.

Other than that, I hope you enjoy this latest addition! Please review and let me know how I'm doing!

* * *

Chapter Three: _The Storm_

Myrand leaned back against the wall, covering her face with her gloved hands. Her whole body was trembling.

This was bad. This was _so_ bad.

Yeah, she had escaped the immediate danger; but she couldn't avoid him forever. And if he told about her parents, good Greatness…

She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. A storm was brewing outside; she could feel it, calling to her, pleading with her to let it in and let it brew within her. If she didn't get a hold of herself soon, the storm would get much, _much_ worse.

Most sorcerers were born with a gift of pure magic within their bodies, with which they were naturally gifted in production. Manipulation was much more of a challenge, trying to tap into the infinite source of magic present in the natural world. For manipulation, the magically gifted could use incantations, runes, and/or magic circles drawn with certain elements of varying properties, in order to help wrangle the willful and often-destructive forces of natural magic.

For Myrand, it was different.

Because of her mother, her magic was natural. It was raw, and powerful, and dangerous if inadequately controlled. The magic in the world around her could recognize her; like water, natural magic was closely bonded to itself, and wanted to stick together. Usually she could hold it at bay, only tapping in to the source when she needed a boost. But storms were something else entirely.

Stavos was the westernmost city-state in the continent of Denair, and the Magical Institute was about as far West as you could get before reaching the coast along the End Sea. This close to the water, storms came up rapidly and with little warning. Whether the storms were caused by Myrand's agitation, or her agitation was caused by the storms, she could not definitively say. But the stronger the storm, or the greater her agitation, the less she was able to hold such powerful magic from rampaging within her.

She needed to calm down, before it got to be too much and she tore this entire school off the map.

She only had four more months before she could take her own Exit Exams and escape this wretched place. She had just wanted to skate through the rest of her time without incident. Then she would take her Exams, surprising everyone with her mastery and skill, and be offered absolutely any job she wanted. Then, and only then, would she reveal herself.

Her mother had hated this place, which is why they'd moved; and Myrand had always had her suspicions about the "freak accident" that killed her parents. She didn't want to find out what the leaders of this school would do when they realized they had her daughter captive within their walls.

Baric had single-handedly ruined everything. She could just agree to give it to him. But then he might ask for it _now_, and she would spend at least the next three months without her magic. She didn't think she could handle such misery; and that was the best-case scenario. He could decide to keep it forever, and then she would lack the power to take it back.

For a maid with no prospects and no class grades to speak of, her career, her _entire life_, would be determined by the results of her Exams. And if Baric kept her power, she would be a maid for the rest of her life.

Untold dangers, or a life of misery? Just how much was she willing to sacrifice to keep her secret?

"Mortals are such strange creatures…"

Myrand dropped her hands and looked around, for the first time actually taking note of where she'd ended up. She hadn't gone far, only to the hallway outside of the main doors to the ballroom. The party was still in full swing, completely ignorant of the crisis she now faced. The hallway itself was empty, save for a tall, blonde-haired man in a suit, who was peering into the ballroom with a bemused expression. He seemed utterly ignorant of Myrand's presence, but he had to have been the one that spoke. "Excuse me?"

He continued to ignore her, shoving his hands in his pockets and turning and walking away. "Miserable little things, too."

"Hey! _Excuse_ me!"

He froze, turning to look at her, and then looking around the empty hallway, and back to her. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "You can hear me?"

Myrand rubbed her forehead with a groan. She was really not in the mood to be dealing with a crazy person. "Of course I can hear you." She took in his disheveled appearance—his clothes were wrinkled; his shirt was buttoned improperly, with at least the top four undone, exposing an unnecessary amount of his admittedly muscular chest; he wore no shoes or socks; and to call his hair "messy" would be considered generous. "A-are you drunk?"

"_What?_ No! I—wait…" He took several steps closer, peering at her from an uncomfortably close distance. "Can you _see_ me?"

She took a step back. While he didn't smell like alcohol, she still didn't want to be close enough to know that. "…Yes?"

"No, that's not… How..?" He kept shaking his head; and then suddenly his eyes widened and he gasped. "You must be that girl! The Star's daughter!"

No. That was exactly two people too many who knew about her tonight. She got into a defensive stance, electricity sparking from her fingertips. "Tell me how you know that."

He only grinned, not threatened by her display in the least. "I mean no disrespect, my lady. You know my brother, Thanatos."

She could do nothing but gape at this bizarre man. "_What._" It wasn't really a question; but the air was rushing from her lungs, and that was all that could come out.

"You know, Death? Tall, dark, and miserable?"

"No, I-I know who you mean. I just…" She trailed off, running a hand through her hair. Were her insanity and hallucinations returning to help her cope with Baric's threat? If so, it wasn't exactly lessening her distress… "His brother? Then… You must be Hypnos…"

He bowed with a flourish and a grin. "At your service."

"What are you doing here? I-I mean, you don't go around putting _every person_ to sleep, do you?"

He crossed his arms, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "Certainly not! Do you have any idea how long that would take? Greatness, I'd never have a break! No, no, not every one. But I can be summoned, for those who need assistance in falling asleep. That's why I'm here." He pushed off the wall, beginning to make his way slowly down the hall, away from the ballroom. "You mortals… Can't even handle falling asleep without our assistance. And you _sorcerers _are worst of all, using magic as a crutch against every inconvenience…" He glanced over his shoulder at her. "Are you coming?"

"I, uh… Yeah." She jogged to catch up.

He chuckled, resuming his slow trek with her at his side. "Now let's see… It's Myrand, isn't it? And you took your father's name? Tell me, Myrand Orion; what is it that has my brother so taken with you?"

She laughed nervously as they rounded a corner. "It's Oria, actually. I… I didn't want anyone to know…"

"Quite right, too," he acknowledged, nodding sagely. "There was a great deal of controversy about their deaths. I know mother was furious. A clever choice, my lady… So. You're clever. Than has always been fond of cleverness. What else?"

Myrand tugged at the sleeve of her glove, trying to think. "I… I really wouldn't know."

Sleep laughed. "You mean he hasn't told you? That's a first. My brother is rather gifted at telling people exactly what he thinks of them." He led her up a flight of stairs and down another hallway, his bare feet making no noise on the worn brown carpet.

She smiled sadly. "Yeah, well, I haven't exactly seen Death in several years."

"That doesn't mean he hasn't seen you."

Myrand froze; held her breath; her heart skipped a beat. She barely managed to croak out, "What do you mean by that?"

Hypnos glanced at her over his shoulder, and then turned around to face her fully, brow creased in confusion. "You mean you don't know?"

"Know _what_?"

He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, shoving them in his pockets; then running them through his hair; then back to his pockets; then taking three steps toward her and placing them on her shoulders. "Myrand. My brother and I, and those like us; we can be summoned. But we can also be _held at bay_. You live in a school full of sorcerers and healers, whose goal in life is to evade and defeat Death. Did you really think they would let him waltz in here just to say 'hello'?"

"You mean they..? And he..?" She shook her head, backing away. "This is ridiculous. This…" She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. "_You're not real!_"

She heard him chuckle, and felt him kiss the top of her head. "I'll prove it to you, and gladly. But I really must answer this summons first. If you wait for me, I'll explain everything."

Myrand lowered one hand and blinked at him. Shit, he was still there. "Okay."

He grinned contentedly. "Thank you. I promise I'll explain. I'll even take you to him." He spun around, leaving her with her mouth hanging open behind him. "Now, then, I know it's around here… Ah! This one!" He put his hands on the handles of the double doors just a few lengths away, and turned to her. "I'll just be a moment."

"Oka—wait… That's not a bedroom," Myrand finally noticed. In fact, there _were_ no living quarters in Stellar. Why would anyone summon the God of Sleep here..?

"What-?" he asked, but the handles were already turning and the doors slid open just a crack. It was enough.

The wall of purple magic blew open the doors, knocking both Myrand and Sleep back into the wall with enough force to crack the plaster. Myrand's vision swam, her head pounding fiercely. When she could finally focus, it was to see the glowing purple wall recede back into the room, dragging Sleep along with it, the doors slamming shut behind them.

She lurched unsteadily to her feet, stumbling across the hall to the doors. She could hear a man's screams from within, and softer, was that…_chanting_? She tugged on the doors, but they didn't budge; she pounded on them, but there was no answer. The screams and chants only grew louder.

Myrand took a step back, trying to think, or at least to _breathe_. The storm was rampaging in her agitation; it felt like it was going to tear her apart.

Instead, she forced it into her hands and lunged at the doors. The wood splintered beneath her fists, and the doors flew off their hinges. Lightning and thunder crashed simultaneously outside, illuminating the room; but the spells and enchantments coating the walls and floor were so thick they were nearly blinding.

Candles floated around the perimeter of the room of their own volition. Six men stood in a circle, hooded and cloaked in purple and gold—the school's colors. On the floor within their circle was an enormous, elaborate, and _powerful_ magical seal…the kind designed for removing someone's magic, like Baric had threatened to do to her. And there in the center of that seal, bound tightly in iron chains, knelt Hypnos.

The nearest cloaked figure shot a ball of flames at her, but she batted it aside without a thought. No, she was entirely too fired up to deal with such trifles. Her magic was flowing stronger than she'd felt it in years; she was completely open to the natural magic. She could _feel _the storm raging outside; no, it was raging _inside her_.

Myrand spread her feet wide, grounding herself, and _pulled_ the storm to her. Lightning blew the windows out, wind and rain pouring through the empty frames.

These enchantments and traps may be strong; but they were still just written in salt chalk.

"Stop her!" one of the figures screamed over the wind, "Stop her _now!_"

The other five charged her; but she pulled in a bolt of lightning and sent the energy back out, blowing them all back. Three of their hoods fell off as they flew through the air. She recognized them: Professor Pith, Professor Lehman, and Professor Rose.

No. No, no, no. _This was not happening._

The only figure left standing ran at Sleep, brandishing a dagger. Myrand pulled and pushed the rain through the room, knocking the figure clean off his feet and washing away all remaining salt chalk. But he was already scrambling to stand again. She darted forward to Sleep, grabbing the iron chains that bound him. Her hands were so heated from the electric charge inside her, that the metal just melted away—a near miracle, as iron was impervious to magic.

Hypnos lurched to his feet, finally freed, and spun, gripping the final figure by the neck and knocking the dagger from his hand. "You summoned me here; now you have me." The figure crumpled to the ground, dead asleep, his hood dropping back as he fell.

Oh, Greatness, that was Headmaster Temm.

Myrand looked around the room again, as if seeing it for the first time, clamping a hand over her mouth. Her dress was soaked. The classroom looked like a hurricane had come through. The chairs and desks that had been stacked along the wall were tossed haphazardly about; all of the books had been knocked from their shelves; glass and salt littered the floor, and rain continued to pour through the broken windows; everything from the carpet to the ceiling was drenched; and six men lay unconscious on the floor.

Sleep grabbed her hand abruptly, shaking her from her momentary lapse. "We need to get out of here now," he reminded. In his other hand was the dagger Temm had dropped.

Myrand nodded, tugging him through the door. "Follow me."

They ran, back down the hall and around the corner and down the stairs, as far away from that room as fast as possible. They came up on the bisecting hallway that led to the ballroom and, oh Greatness, Tristan and Sylvie were there.

"Randy! _There_ you are! Baric's been looking for you." There was a crash and a rumble from upstairs, shaking the entire building with such force that Myrand fell. "Whoa! What was _that_?!"

Sleep grabbed her hand, pulling her to her feet. "They're up," she gasped.

"I know! Come on!"

She stumbled after him, leaving Tristan behind as he called, "Hey, where are you going? _Myrand_!"

They kept running until they crashed through the front doors, down the stairs, and beneath the statue. The storm was raging; her heart was racing.

Hypnos grabbed her shoulders again, the iron blade of the dagger in his hand cool against her burning skin. "You saved my life; but I have to leave you now. I promise, we _will_ find you. But now you need to _run_."

And then he was gone, and she was all alone beneath the tall white statue.

The building shook again, and Myrand stumbled back away from it. She needed to go, and _now_. But where?

Out of habit, she looked up, blinking against the heavy rain that poured into her eyes…and there they were, her parents, shining brightly even through the thick clouds: father, gazing lovingly at his beautiful wife who shined brighter than any other. So she ran west.

There was only one road that went west, deep into the heart of the forest beyond Stellar and, eventually, out to the End Sea. She kept to the narrow road, praying that they would assume she'd gone in any other direction. There were beasts in this forest; dragons, and tikbalangs, and black dogs, and maybe a gorgon or two. It would be insanity to venture out beyond the safety of campus and into the danger of the trees alone. At this point, though, she was pretty well certain of her own insanity.

She couldn't tell if she was crying. She was soaked through to the bone; her boots were full of water and her white dress was now transparent, plastered to her skin, making it nearly impossible to run. But she kept moving, convinced she could hear something behind her, the growling of a beast or the roar of a car's engine. She didn't know which frightened her more.

Thunder continued to rumble and crash around her, flashes of lightning bringing clarity and lighting her way. The magic was raging through her as the rain bit her skin, sharp as needles. It was too much. It was all too much.

Myrand fell to her knees and _screamed_ until her throat was raw; but it was lost in the sound of the thunder that broke, the result of the bolt of lightning that rocketed up out of her body and into the night sky.

She coughed, gasping for breath, placing her palms on the wet asphalt. The storm broke, easing into a relentless drizzle. She was so tired…but that roaring was getting closer, and she needed to get off the road.

She raised her head to look around. There was nothing but trees, and nowhere to go. Slowly, shakily, she stood to her aching feet. It hurt so much, but she had to keep moving. She trudged on, stumbling along faster when she had the energy, which wasn't often. The intense heat beneath her skin had abandoned her, and now she was freezing. The cold seeped into her bones, and she couldn't stop her teeth from chattering. If there _were_ monsters in this forest, they'd have no problem finding her with all the noise she made, shuffling along. And she would be too weak to stop them. She was well beyond the Institute's protection now.

There was a sudden fluttering sound, as if a giant bird was rushing up on her. Myrand spun, raising her fists as though she had any hope of fending it off; but there was nothing there. She really _was_ going crazy. She turned slowly back around, peeling her sopping wet curls back from her forehead and trying to tuck them behind her ear.

Wait… _That_ wasn't a tree.

A muddy dirt road worked its way off of the main one, circling around in front of an enormous, aged mansion.

She'd heard about this place. It was supposed to be haunted; boys from the school would drive their girls out here and park their cars outside, coming home with tales of grotesque, shadowy figures passing behind the windows. There were no visible lights on inside the house, and she needed a place to hide… A ghost or two would be the least terrible thing she'd seen tonight.

Myrand trudged through the mud and up the steps, wincing at the pained creaking of the wood beneath her feet. There was no bell, and she was afraid of what would be the answer if she were to knock. The roaring was getting closer, and she was only getting wetter in the rain; so she tried the handle, and it gave way with ease. The sturdy door opened with only a moderate protest from its hinges.

"Hello?" she called hopefully; though whether she was hoping for an answer or not, she honestly couldn't say. Regardless, there was none. "Hello? I'm sorry, I don't mean to trespass! Is anyone here?"

Still nothing. It was completely dark inside, with not a spell or enchantment anywhere to be seen. That was a relief tonight. She felt along the wall for a light switch, but found none; instead, she found an unlit torch hanging upside-down. She pulled it from its sconce, surprised at its weight. The rod was cool metal, perhaps steel; and the tip smelled of pitch mixed with sulfur. Myrand opened herself up to her magic again, though not nearly as strongly as she had before. She could feel it work its way slowly through her body, coming to rest in her fingertips, which she pressed to the tip of the torch, watching it ignite. She blinked against the sudden light, holding it high above her head and taking a look around.

_Wow_.

This place was even larger than it had appeared from outside. The water dripping from her hair and dress onto the dark wood floor was the only sound, echoing through the grand entryway. To her left and right stood heavy oak doors barring her entrance into untold rooms. Two hallways followed the walls back into the depths of the house, beyond the reach of the torchlight, separated by another closed-off room. It was barred by a broad set of double doors; from what she could see, the room directly ahead was at least fifty lengths wide, though she couldn't see how long.

Two sets of stairs rose up the walls at either side, curving inward and converging at the upper floor, in front of another set of double doors. A walkway stretched all the way around, overlooking the entryway; but the torch only shone so brightly, and so far, and she couldn't see much more than that. More torches were ensconced along the walls, each one hanging upside-down; but she left them unlit for fear that the light would be seen from the road.

All of the doors and railings were dark, heavy wood. The stairs were covered in lush, black carpet. The walls were painted a deep blue. There were windows in the wall behind her, but they were so covered in dust and grime that she couldn't see anything through them. She could smell the dust and age that coated everything she saw; but it wasn't musty or dank, which was a welcome relief. For all its age, the roof didn't seem to have any leaks, as far as she could see from here. The rain continued to pour outside.

"Hello?" she called again, a bit louder this time. She felt much more confident with the light. Still no answer.

Myrand finally stepped away from the doorway and fully into the house, letting the heavy door close behind her. "Is anyone here? Please, I just want to get in out of the rain."

She ventured into the room slowly, trying not to jump at every shadow cast by the flickering torch. She headed for one of the sets of stairs, too afraid to try going down any of the dark hallways.

On the fourth step, the sound of creaking behind her nearly made her jump out of her skin. She whirled, trying not to scream.

One of the doors she'd passed had swung open. Hadn't that been closed before? Was there a draft? "Hello? Is someone there?"

Of course there was no answer. Myrand swung the torch around; nothing else seemed to have changed. She stepped back down off the steps, letting more magic flow into her, just in case. The rain increased, now coming down in heavy sheets.

Myrand pushed the door in further, holding the torch out first. "Hello?" she called gently, "Is someone in here?"

Inside was a sitting room, full of worn, comfortable-looking couches and settees and loveseats. This room smelled differently, the strong scent of pine cutting through the stale air. She stepped further into the room, spotting the source of the smell; on the opposite wall was a fireplace, and beside it, a pile of freshly cut firewood.

A chill ran down her spine. "_Hello_? Is someone _there_?" She spoke much more urgently now. There was another door to her right, but it was solidly shut. If someone had passed through here, she would have heard that door close. Unless it could _walk through walls_…

She shook herself of that ridiculous notion, stepping closer to the fireplace. A plush loveseat was placed beside it, and in the seat were a pile of white towels. Curious, she moved the torch into her left hand and picked up the top towel, holding it up to her face. It was fluffy; it smelled clean and fresh; and it was _warm_.

Myrand dropped it, heart racing, and whirled around, trying to find who had set out a stack of _fresh fucking towels_. "_Please_," she begged desperately, "Is someone here?"

Lightning flashed outside, barely visible through the room's grimy windows. The storm was reflecting her growing fear.

"_Are these for me?_"

Thunder rolled through the forest; it was the only response she received.

She needed to get herself together, before the storm tried to take control again. Myrand took a deep breath, exhaling through her nose. If something was here, it surely meant her no harm if it was setting out firewood and towels.

With shaking hands, she placed several logs in the fireplace and lit them with the torch. She did it manually, not trusting herself with such a substantial amount of fire in this state. Her control right now was shoddy at best; she didn't want to accidentally burn the place down.

She extinguished the torch, not needing it here with the fire roaring, and propped it up against the stone fireplace. Then her next order of business was to remove those damned gloves.

The right came off with no problem, dropping to and blending in with the same black carpet as was on the stairs. The left was not so easy.

The stub of salt chalk she'd kept there had dissolved in the rain, liquefying into a fiercely abrasive sludge that had dug and torn into the skin of her arm. She had to roll the fabric off rather than pull, and even wiping the substance away with one of the ultra-soft towels brought tears to her eyes. The skin was red and enflamed, covered in scratches and scrapes of varying lengths and depths. Finally, when it was all cleared away, she focused her magic to that arm, healing her burning flesh.

With that done, she wrung out her skirt and hair, and dried herself with the towels as best she could. She unlaced and removed her boots, wincing at the stiffness of her toes, and set them before the fire to dry out. Then she pulled the loveseat closer to the fire, cocooned herself in it with the remaining towels, and tried to warm up.

Between the soft towels, comfy chair, and warm fire, Myrand was already dozing off when she heard a creaking of wood from outside. She scrambled to her feet and out of the towels. That was the same sound the front steps had made when she'd stepped on them; whoever lived here must be home, and would surely be wondering what the hell she was doing in their house. She hurried out of the room and into the vast entrance hall. The light of the now-roaring fire spilled out into the hall, shining over the front door. It creaked open, and a figure stepped in out of the rain, which continued to flow in a steady drizzle.

But when the light finally illuminated the figure's face, Myrand's heart stopped in her chest.

Baric Pith snarled at her from the doorway. "_There you are_."

She turned and bolted for the stairs, her stockinged feet sliding on the wood floor, slipping on the carpeted stairs. But she didn't fall until she reached the top of the stairs—Baric had grabbed her by the heel. She flipped to her back, kicking him in the face as she spun. He reeled back enough to release her, and she scrambled to her feet, backing away as quickly as she could.

But he was deterred for only a second; he lunged forward, tackling her to the ground. She struggled to get up, but he grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her back down. Her head bounced on the ground, still sore from when she'd hit it against the wall earlier that night, though it felt like a lifetime ago. Lights pierced her vision, and she closed her eyes with a cry of pain.

"My darling Myrand…" Baric purred. She felt the cold blade of a knife press against her neck. "Please don't try to run anymore; I'm ever so tired of chasing you."

Myrand peeled open her eyes, glaring up at the fuzzy image of Baric's grinning face. "If you kill me, you won't get a _single drop_ of my magic for your _fucking_ test."

Baric only laughed, which frightened her more than the knife in his hand. "Sweetie, I'm not going to _kill_ you. But you need to be reminded of your _place_. Now lay still."

Instead, she began to struggle more furiously, trying to buck him off as he tugged at the hem of her skirt. She heard the fabric rip as the knife bit into her skin; the storm surged inside of her, raging through her body. She screamed as thunder roared and lightning struck, momentarily illuminating everything—including the double doors at the head of the stairs, beside her, that flung open…and the figure that _rushed out_.

It kicked Baric, catching him in the stomach and flinging him off of her to crash into the railing, which audibly cracked beneath the blow.

All of the torches along the walls ignited on their own, bringing blessed light to the hall.

Short of breath, Myrand looked to the black leather boots beside her, eyes following the lean legs within up to their owner. His legs seemed to go on for days; he was well over four lengths tall, thin and long and lean with a pair of surprisingly broad shoulders. His trim body was wrapped in an immaculately tailored and well-worn, three-piece, double-breasted suit. His stance was full of confidence; he stood with hands shoved deep in his pockets, those broad shoulders fully relaxed.

But his face was the most surprising aspect of his entire strange appearance. It was as gaunt and lean as the rest of him, with high, prominent cheekbones and a thin, straight nose. But his coloring was entirely wrong. His skin was an unnatural gray, and every hair on his head—including eyelashes—was a pure, bright white. Those white lashes framed a shocking pair of eyes; the entirety of the spheres were a deep black, even where they should have been white, with the exception of what would serve for pupils. Those were a glowing, fiery red and focused solidly on Baric. But there was something familiar about those eyes…

And then he opened his mouth to growl, "I wouldn't do that if I were you, _boy_…" and she caught sight of a pointed black tongue and a set of sharp, jagged teeth…and she knew exactly who this was.

"_It's you_," she breathed, unable to make any greater sound.

He bent his neck and peered down at her, the light in his eyes shifting from red, to purple, to the gentle blue she remembered. Death grinned at her, his pointed teeth fitting together perfectly.

"Hi, honey. I'm home."


	4. Promises

Author's Note: Hello, friends! I have several important things to say, so I'll try to keep it brief:

1. Hopefully the last chapter wasn't too long for you all, because _sweet merciful Heavens_ this one's about twice as long. I don't intend for all of them to be this bulky, and I'm sorry for that. That's also why it took me so long to get this one uploaded. There may be typos; I haven't had time to edit this one as much as I usually do, so I apologize in advance. And if there are any, I'll try to get back to edit them once I have internet access again, though it'll be a couple of days.

2. After this one, I'm going to be taking a bit of a break, in order to focus more on my classes and the end of the semester, and to do more work on developing the plot for this story. This has grown so much bigger and more complicated than I had ever planned it to be, particularly with a major development present in this chapter (hint: _dragons!_), and I need to take some time to adjust my plan to accommodate these new developments.

3. Apparently there was some confusion with characters' ages, and I apologize wholeheartedly for not making it clear. Myrand is 20 years old, and will turn 21 in about 4 months. Baric is a month older than she is. Tristan is 17 and Sylvie is 16. Revah is 19, if anyone was wondering. I'm not sure yet if she's going to be an important character or not. We'll see.

4. I love you. So much. I've been working almost nonstop for two weeks on this chapter, and I really hope you like it. And I would be truly ecstatic if you could leave me a review or send me a message and let me know what you think, because I'm honestly not sure how I feel about this one. But I tried really hard and I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Chapter Four: _Promises_

With his long legs, Thanatos easily stepped over Myrand, placing himself between her and Baric. He gave the groaning boy another hearty kick, just for good measure, and then bent and picked up the knife that had been dropped. Myrand caught a glimpse of his hands, just as long and lean as the rest of him, with skin just as gray. His fingers tapered to sharp points, looking more than anything like long, flexible claws.

He raised those claw-like fingers to the flat of the blade, wiping her blood away. Then he raised his foot, pressing the heel of his black leather boot roughly into Baric's chest, effectively pinning him down. His eyes were red again when he turned to look at her over his shoulder.

"Did he hurt you, Myr?" His voice was thin and tight with emotion.

Myrand lurched to her feet, raising a hand to her neck. "No, it's fine." She took a steadying breath, healing the cut before he could see how deep it was and wiping the remaining blood away. "It's just a scratch."

He growled lowly, digging his boot harder into Baric, making him yelp in pain. "Is that what you like? _Huh_? You like hurting women? You get off on that?"

"Get off of me, you freak!" Baric gasped, his hands shoving at the boot, fingers digging in.

Death moved his foot, only to place it higher, at Baric's throat. "_Did I give you permission to speak?_ You picked the wrong woman this time. The storm in her would have torn you apart. _I_ will not be so _gracious_."

A shiver ran down Myrand's spine. For all the years she'd known him, she'd _never_ seen him like this. He had always been gentle with her, almost kind. And while he had always shown a passive disdain for everyone else, she had never seen him act in violence. It chilled her; but it also brought her to a frightening realization. "It was you, wasn't it? You killed Teri Raddle?"

He turned his head to look at her, his eyes shifting just to a shade of purple. "I kill _everyone_, Myr," he said with a wicked grin. "You'll need to be a bit more specific."

"_Teri Raddle_. He found out about me, threatened to tell if I didn't perform certain…favors. They say he dropped dead the second he stepped off campus."

"Ah, yes. That one." He looked up with a wistful grin, as though reliving a fond memory. "Although, I wouldn't say he 'dropped dead'. No, _he_ died slowly, screaming."

"You're a…murderer..!" Baric gasped, clawing at his boot.

"I am _Death_, you ignorant meatsack!" he roared, his deep voice echoing through the house. For a second, his flesh simply vanished, and she caught a glimpse of the grinning skeleton from her youth; but it passed quickly. He took a shuddering breath, relaxing his broad shoulders. "Anyway, he was set to die within the year. I simply sped up the clock. I will admit, my displays of affection are a tad…morbid. But I'll do it again, and gladly." He laughed. "Or maybe I'll try something new for you… I could feed you to Cerberus; three heads do get ever so hungry, you know; and he has such an appetite for _live meat_. What do you think, Myrand?"

She took a step back, shaking her head no. Her hands were still covered in the blood she'd wiped from her neck; she could hear Hypnos' screams, and see the bodies of six men strewn about the floor of a classroom in Stellar Hall. More than anything, she could feel Teri Raddle's hot breath against her ear as he told her all the things he was going to make her do when he got back to school, the night he never came back.

"No, please… No more violence. Not tonight. I can't—" her voice broke, and she had to stifle a sob. "I can't take anymore tonight."

When he turned to look at her this time, his eyes were blue again. He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it. His shoulders slumped, and he hung his head as if ashamed.

That hadn't been the reaction she'd wanted; she hadn't meant to insult or hurt him. But she had to admit that she felt relieved when he removed his foot from Baric's throat.

"Tell her 'thank you', meatsack," Death growled, not lifting his eyes from the floor.

"T-thank you," Baric stuttered, rubbing his neck.

"Thank her for saving your _life_."

"Thank you f-for saving my life."

"_Use her name!_" Death spat, his clawed hands balling into fists.

Baric shrunk back from him, terrified. "T-thank you for s-saving my life, M-M-Myrand."

Death raised his eyes to her sadly, taking in the rip in her dress and the blood on her hands and the tears on her cheeks. "Good enough, meatsack." He turned to Baric again. "Now you listen to me. For Myrand's sake, I have given you the rest of your days. You will always remember what she has done for you. And you will never hurt another person—not physically, not mentally, not emotionally—or else I will come to you right then and I will end you. Is that understood?"

Baric nodded his head furiously. "Y-y-y-y-yes."

"Good. And remember this, too: my mercy goes only so far. When I come for you—and I will; I come for everyone—I will come to make you pay for what you tried to do to my wife tonight." Wait—what did he just call her? "Now _get out of my house_."

Baric raced away, not even making it fully upright before he flew down the stairs, stumbling about halfway down and rolling the rest of the way. Myrand stepped forward, leaning against the railing to watch him scramble to his feet and lurch across the floor and through the front doors.

Death stepped up beside her, resting his elbows on the railing, twirling Baric's knife in his elegant hands. He waved the long fingers of one hand, and the front door slammed shut behind Baric, who never looked back once.

They stood in silence, long after the sound of Baric's car engine and the light of its headlights faded into the distance.

Myrand had a million different questions to ask, and no idea where to begin. Good Greatness, where to begin? She could hardly interpret her racing thoughts, let alone put them into words. He stayed silent, patiently waiting for her to speak. His words bounced around in her head, one more than the rest: "wife". But she couldn't ask about that one, not yet. She wasn't brave enough to ask about that one yet. So she focused on something else he'd said.

"So… This is your house?"

The dagger in his hands stilled; Myrand could feel his gaze on her, though she couldn't bring herself to meet it. "…Yes. I have a home on each of the five continents." His voice was quiet and gentle and intimate, a far cry from the roaring, growling fury he had shown Baric. He held out his hand, gesturing around the hall. "The Ancients built my temple here, far away from their towns and villages. It fell long ago; but the land is still mine. A wealthy man wanted some extra time, and I wanted a place to live." He shrugged. "He built this in return for another year of life."

Myrand nodded, turning his words over in her head. "Okay. Okay. So you were here…the whole time?" Because if he had waited around to swoop in and save her until after Baric had cut her throat, she would be walking out that door right now, six years of missing him be damned.

"_No_." He always had a habit of hesitating before he spoke, as if picking his words carefully; but this he answered immediately. "No… I set out the towels and firewood, and saw that you were warm. You began to fall asleep, and I thought you would be safe without me. People were dying; so I went to work." He thrust the blade of Baric's knife into the wood of the railing so it stood there on its own, and balled his hands into fists. "I am so sorry, Myrand. I should have stayed."

She couldn't help but look at him. It hurt to see him look so pained, so full of shame and anger that he hadn't been there for her tonight; but it was just such a rush to see him with skin, and a face, and _expressions_. "Greatness, _look_ at you!" she blurted.

He turned to look at her, brow raised in surprise. "…What?"

She blushed. "Sorry. I just… You look so different!"

He smirked. "…I have many forms, Myr." He rolled his eyes with a scoff. "My mother thought this one might keep the dying from being so frightened when they see me. It doesn't much help." He shrugged those broad shoulders. "This form _does_ have its benefits, though. For one, even living mortals can see me, not just you and the dying. And I—"

"Can I touch you?" She was sure that his other benefits were nice; but this was the only possibility that mattered to her now.

"…I'm afraid not. Contact with my flesh will still kill you." After a moment's hesitation, he added, almost shyly, "My clothes are still fair game."

She needed no further encouragement; in the next instant, her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist and her face was buried in his chest. He smelled earthy, and a little bit dusty; but mostly he smelled like pine, and she wondered if he had stood out in the rain chopping wood for her.

He tensed in surprise, and thrust his hands in his pockets to keep from accidentally touching her. That had always been their arrangement; his clothes were made of a substance that could protect her from his power, but her own afforded no such protection. She could only touch him through his own clothes, or her soul would be released from her body and she would die. So he always kept his hands at his sides, away from her; and then he would—

She heard a soft rustling and, oh Greatness, he remembered!

A pair of enormous, black, feathered wings sprouted from his shoulder blades, stretching out and forward to wrap around her in a gentle embrace.

Myrand couldn't help it; she began to cry. She had hugged him before, as a child; but it was never like this. Then, he had appeared to her as a skeleton in a cape; hugging him involved little more than wrapping her arms around his ribcage and spine. This—feeling muscle and flesh pressing back against her—this was different and new.

This was nice.

It was so nice that it hurt, in a way. For so long, she had tried to forget him and pretend he wasn't real, that he hadn't been her dearest friend and the only person who'd cared for her. But her heart had never forgotten him. It couldn't. She had lived for five years with an ache in her chest, a desperate desire to see him again; to see those eyes and hear his voice; to talk to him again; to surprise a laugh from his solemn countenance. She had missed his laugh more than anything.

But to have missed him like that, so much for so long; and then to have him here now, in a better way than she had ever thought to hope for… She wept from the joy of holding him again. She wept for the years she had missed him. She wept for the fear that she might lose him.

The thought crept into her mind that this might all be a strange and horrid dream. The thought was too terrible to bear, and she wept all the more.

His wings wrapped more tightly around her, pulling her even closer to him, his shorter, underwing covert feathers brushing softly against her cheeks. "Shh… It's alright, Myrand. You're safe now," he murmured. "I've got you. You're safe, and I've got you, and I'll never let anyone hurt you; never again."

"They told me you weren't real!" she sobbed. "And—and they made me _believe_ it!"

"I know, Myr. Shh, I know… But I promise I will never leave you again. I will never again give you a reason to doubt me."

He continued to hold her for a long time, until her sobs eased away and her tears slowed. She released him, taking a step back with a sniffle. He stretched his wings out to the side, flapped them once, and then folded them neatly on his back with a sigh. "…There, now," he murmured, tilting his head to the side as he peered down at her with a small smile, "All better?"

She nodded with another sniffle, raising her hand up to wipe away the remaining tears and snot, but froze. Her fingers were still smeared with blood, though she had wiped most of it onto the back of his black jacket. "Oh! Oh, Death, I'm so sorry. I didn't—"

He shook his head. "No, no, it's alright, my Myr. It doesn't matter."

There was that word again, "mine". "My Myr." "My wife." She knew it should bother her to some degree. But she had always known she was special to him and maybe it didn't surprise her like it should have.

"…Perhaps I could draw you a bath? Would you like that?"

She nodded absently, only half paying attention to what he said. He turned and began to lead her off, deeper into the house, but she stopped him.

It didn't surprise her like it should have; but she needed to hear him explain it.

"Thanatos?"

He paused and turned to look at her, brow raised in surprise at being addressed by his proper name. "…Yes?"

She tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to hide how badly her hands were shaking and no longer caring about the blood. She wasn't surprised; but that didn't mean she wasn't nervous. "You called me your wife."

He turned full to face her, the tips of his wings brushing against the carpet. He did not raise his eyes to meet hers. "…Yes. I did."

Myrand fidgeted with her hair some more. "Okay. Okay… W-why?"

It took him a long time to decide what to say. He raised a hand to smooth back his hair, then rubbed the back of his neck. His wings ruffled in discomfort. After a moment, he smoothed his feathers back out and straightened his shoulders. Though he still did not look at her, he stood before her with an air of confidence and power, tall and awesome and frightening.

It was easy to see why people had worshipped him as a god.

"I intend to stake my claim to you, and declare you as my own; to take you as my wife until the end of time."

Myrand pursed her lips, considering his words. It wasn't particularly romantic, nor was it exactly a declaration of love, or even of affection. But… But it had to mean that he desired her, that he wanted her in some way—though how and to what degree was yet to be seen. To want to spend the rest of his unnatural life with her, he must care for her. Yes, it was sudden, and she hadn't seen him in years. But he had been her dearest friend; she knew what sort of man he had been. And if he had changed since then, well…she would have the rest of time to get to know him again.

"Okay."

He turned to her, brow creased in confusion, then opened his mouth and closed it twice before he could speak. "…O-okay? I mean… You're okay with that?"

She shrugged. "Well, I would appreciate it if you would _ask_ me, instead of just telling me what I'm to do. But…yeah."

He hung his head. "…Yes, of course. You mortals _ask_ now, don't you?" She would have laughed, but he seemed to be totally serious about his words. Then he stepped closer to her and sank down to one knee, and all thought of laughter fled from her.

He knelt with his back straight, hands folded on his one raised knee, his black wings held out straight behind him. "Myrand, daughter of Orion the hunter and of Stavia the western star; I… I do not know love, nor how to demonstrate it. The years I have known you have been…an exercise in both receiving and attempting to bestow affection. I will be the first to admit that my attempts are still inadequate, and far, far less than you deserve. But I do care about you, Myrand; more than I have ever thought I was capable of caring. And if you are so willing, I will spend the rest of my life trying to be the husband you deserve… _Are_ you so willing?"

Yeah, that would do.

She nodded her head, grinning broadly. "Yes, of course. There now; that's much, much better. First rule of being my husband: ask me first. Don't just assume. Okay?"

He rose slowly, looking mildly confused, but pleased. "…I will try to remember that. Anything else I should know?"

She stepped forward, looping her arm through his. "I'll write you up a list. Now, about that bath?"

He chuckled softly; it wasn't quite a laugh, but it would do for now. "Right this way, my Myr."

He led her through the set of double doors from which he had initially emerged. He pressed his free hand to the wall, and lights lit up all around the room.

"You have electricity?"

He nodded, looking around proudly. "…In certain rooms, yes. Not all. I also have running water. Even a telephone, of all things, though it sees little use."

Such things were luxuries, originally developed to aid those who have no magic. Many of the Gifted, the magically adept, had them in their homes for the convenience; others were fiercely opposed to their use, viewing them as a bastardization of processes that should be done through magic. From the torches in the entrance hall, she had thought him to be firmly rooted in the latter group. He was full of surprises tonight. "Do you have a car?"

He vanished into wisps of black smoke. Before she could even comprehend what happened, he reappeared at her other side. "Now why would I need a silly thing like that?"

She laughed, taking his arm again. "Are you showing off for me?"

He grinned, flashing a sharp-toothed smile at her. "…Maybe a little."

Myrand looked around the room they had entered with a grin. There was a sweet satisfaction in knowing that the god of death wanted to impress her. "Oh! And you have a _library_," she commented, finally noticing the rows of shelves, packed with books, through which they were passing.

"…This? This is nothing more than a reading room. No, my library is much larger than this, in my house on the Central Continent… Who owns that now, do you know?"

There were five continents of Creos, arranged in a circle: Denaire to the west, Baela to the east, Feyn to the north and Aiva to the south; and in the middle of them all, the Central Continent, whose name had been forgotten from history. It sat right at the apex of all major trade routes, and so continued to be the most highly contested piece of real estate in the world.

For centuries, if not millennia, terrible, unceasing war had been waged over Central. When Myrand was only a child, a council of the major magical and political leaders of each continent had met to develop a treaty to end the wars. Her mother had been on that council, Stavia of Stavos, and had lobbied vehemently to allow the Centralians to govern themselves. Instead, the council decided to hold an auction, giving control of Central over to the highest bidder, with the auction renewed every five years.

"Feyn holds her now, I believe; but if Elaine Coleman supports a candidate in the election, I think Denaire has a sporting chance for the next auction."

He 'hmmed' in response, then raised his hand to a small wooden door tucked inconspicuously between two bookshelves that rose to the ceiling. "…Sorry about the light," he warned, pushing in the door.

She recoiled, screwing her eyes shut. The hallway was practically dripping with protective enchantments and warding spells, glowing in a wide spectrum of colors. She blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust as he led her along. Something caught her eye and her steps faltered; her name was written on these spells, alongside his, in the Old Tongue.

"…What's wrong, Myr?" he asked gently, stopping to check on her.

She smiled. "It's nothing. Sorry." She tugged on his arm, pulling him along to the end of the hall, grateful that he didn't press it.

These spells had been created with her in mind, specifically to allow her access. This many spells would have taken her days to draw out in chalk; and even more so, they seemed to be painted on, which would take even longer. For how long had he been preparing, waiting for her to come here?

He opened the door at the end of the hall, and the dim light of the next room was a blessed relief.

It was a bedroom; and undoubtedly the master bedroom, by the size of it. A fire crackled in the fireplace, the only source of light save for what fell through the large bay window—but a light rain was still falling steadily, separate from her control, and the clouds blocked out the light of the moon and stars. A high-backed armchair sat before the fire, and beside it a small table. Aside from those, the only other furniture here was an enormous bed, the black sheets and comforter messily strewn about.

He must be a restless sleeper. She made a mental note of that.

Death led her aside, to a sliding door. "..You can have something of mine, to change into." He slid the door open, revealing a sparse wardrobe of black clothing. "I'm sorry there isn't much."

"No, it's alright," she assured, looking down at her trashed dress. There was blood at the collar, and mud splattered along the hem from her trip through the forest, and a rip in the skirt that traveled in a crooked path up her thigh. "That's very thoughtful of you."

She began looking through his clothes for something that might fit her. His collection of trousers, shirts, waistcoats, and jackets were all tailored to his thin frame, and would surely not accommodate her curves.

"…Will you be able to repair your dress?"

"My mother's dress," she corrected immediately, her hands stilling on one of his cloaks. Maybe that could work… "Did you pack it into my things?" she asked softly, glancing at him. Shit, he was staring at her, his blue eyes watching carefully.

"…Yes. I thought you would like to have it."

"I love it. Thank you for doing that." She sighed, smoothing her hands over the soft white fabric. "I'll take it to Béa. She's the Head Maid at the Institute, and much better at these things than I am."

"…Yes, I know who Béa is."

Myrand whipped her head around to look at him, catching the look of regret that flashed across his features. "How?"

He cleared his throat, feathers ruffling in discomfort. "…Uh… You told me."

"_What?_"

He sighed. "…You know by now that I have…difficulty visiting your school. But I couldn't let them just take you from me like that. So I smuggled something in that would let me keep an eye on you—a book, with a portrait of me inside."

"I found that book!"

"…Yes, I know," he acknowledged with a fond grin. "…My clever girl; you read every book in the damn place. That picture was, literally, a portrait. The artist, Armand LaTouc, was a grandson of Melpomene. He offered to paint me when I came for his wife; in return, I gave him three more months with her. It allows a piece of me to be present, regardless of any enchantments…and then you found it. And you started talking to the picture, and I heard everything."

Her heart lurched up into her throat. "E-everything?"

He leaned in close, breathing into her ear, "_Everything_."

She knew her face was deeply flushed when she turned away from him and back to his wardrobe, trying not to think of all the nights she had snuck that book out of the library and into her bedroom, and the things she had said and…done…with it there. "What, do you make a habit of trading time for personal gain?" she asked, more harshly than she really meant to, trying to divert the subject.

He chuckled softly, easily seeing through what she was doing. "…Only when it suits me. I assure you, that isn't often."

"Ooh, what's _this_?" She pulled out a thick, soft black sweater with a garish, gray 'Θ' covering the front. Myrand laughed. "Thanatos, what _is_ this?"

He groaned, hanging his head. "My…mother makes all of my clothes," he sighed miserably, as though it physically hurt him to admit it. "She thought she would be funny and make me this atrocious thing, with my initial on the front."

"I love it," Myrand gushed. "Can I wear it?"

He looked surprised, but nodded. "…Yes, of course."

She yanked it from its hanger and clutched it to her chest, looking up at him expectantly.

He gestured toward another door to the right. "Right this way, my Myr."

He held the door open for her, and she stepped into a pristine white bathroom. The walk-in shower and enormous tub were far more modern that the rest of the house, and she wondered who had—or rather, _hadn't_—died for its restoration. Death handed her another white towel from a nearby shelf, and turned to go.

"…I'll be downstairs when you're done; or feel free to explore. You are welcome anywhere in the house. Call my name if you need anything, and I will come at once."

"Thank you, Death." She sat on the edge of the tub, twisting the knob for hot water and looking over the bath products and potions that were arranged neatly along the shelf.

"…Myrand?" he called, hesitating at the door.

"Hmm?"

"…You should know what you'd be getting yourself into. I will make for a terrible husband… I recognize that my appearance is grotesque. I know little about mortals, save for what makes them die. I have rarely kept any companion, save for the occasional dragon or hellhound, and they are not much for conversation. In that, I am sorely lacking. And I will not share you. Any partners you may have had in the past will be forgiven; but if you agree to this, any future partners will surely die." He turned and caught her gaze with his, eyes a piercing purple. "I want you, Myrand. Fiercely. But I will not force you." He hung his head, and told her softly, "I won't force you to shackle yourself to me for eternity. You need not make such a weighty decision tonight, or even this year, or any time before you are ready. Think on what I've said. I will be downstairs."

With that, he left, letting the door click shut behind him.

Myrand could do nothing but stare slack-jawed at the door. Several minutes passed before she remembered her bath, hurrying to plug the drain so as not to waste any more water. She snatched a bottle of lavender-scented bath potion from the shelf. It was a full bottle, the seal unbroken; and as she poured it in, she wondered how he could possibly know that it was her favorite scent. Surely, she hadn't told him _that_…had she?

Myrand stood, gingerly slipping the dress up and over her head. Her hose were ruined, splattered with mud, with holes in both knees and a run from toe to hip. She cast those into the trash, removed her undergarments, shut the water off, and eased herself down into the steaming water. The potion worked to soothe her aching muscles and sore feet, and she leaned her head back with a deep sigh.

She closed her eyes, trying to wrap her mind around the things that had happened tonight. Baric's threats had been nullified; she had revealed herself to be powerful, before the headmaster and at least three of the professors. It was no great stretch to assume that they would look into her file; and with a bit of digging into her history, they would soon discover her parentage. Baric would have nothing to reveal, which was one trial down. But the fact that the professors would know about her brought very little comfort.

What had they been doing tonight, in secret while the rest of the school was preoccupied? Why had they trapped and attacked Sleep? What could they possibly hope to gain from that?

What would they do when she returned? Would she ever be able to do so?

If she wanted to get even a half-decent job, she first would need to graduate. And if she couldn't go back to school…

Would Death want her to stay here, with him, forever?

Could she marry him?

She thought of the first time she'd met him, after the attack on her parents. Father had already lost consciousness from the poison of the scorpion's sting, and mother was still screaming and writhing in pain. A sobbing, eleven-year-old Myrand knelt over them, trying to harness the magic within her to extract the poison and heal them. It was much more complex than anything she could then handle, and her efforts seemed to do more harm than good.

But then he had shown up, the tall skeleton in a long black cloak. He brought her parents relief from their pain, returned her mother to her place in the night sky, and took her father's body before the gods at Olympus to be honored with a place in the stars beside his wife. He gave Myrand comfort, wrapping his wings around her and letting her sob into his cloak, her fingers hooked through his empty ribs.

For the next four years, he had visited her regularly at the orphanage that took her in. No one else could see him, but no one else was the daughter of a Star and the granddaughter of Poseidon; and they didn't need anyone else. They cured each other's loneliness as best they could.

She was fourteen when she realized she had a crush on her one and only friend. Even then, she'd known it was not only foolish, but also impossible; so she never said a word.

Then Béa Camblin had come to the orphanage, offering a position of service at the Stavos Magical Institute for the orphan girl gifted in magic.

Death helped her pack her things, sneaking her mother's dress into her bag when she wasn't looking.

The next day, Myrand had turned fifteen; and tonight was the first time she'd seen him since, almost six years later.

Pulling a pocket of air over her mouth and nose, Myrand submerged her head under the water. The thought of her parents brought tears to her eyes. Even after all this time, she missed them constantly, like a heavy weight she carried with her. It never grew any lighter, but maybe she had grown stronger. Or maybe she had just learned better ways to carry it.

She had always loved water, and the pressing silence beneath it. Here, she felt weightless; and sometimes that feeling applied to the weight of her loss. Here, she could cry without shame.

If her parents were still here, she wouldn't need to be afraid. She would be a proper student of SMI, rather than a maid; she'd be praised for her mastery of magic, not frightened that she'd be found out.

But then she would never have met Thanatos.

What would mother think of him? And father? Would they be pleased that she had befriended him? Would they want her to marry Thanatos?

Did _she_ want to marry Thanatos?

Her air was running out, the water was getting cold, and her skin was beginning to prune. She rose up out of the soothing potion and stepped from the tub, wrapping herself in the soft towel. She removed the plug, and stood there watching the water drain out until it was empty.

"_Yes_," she whispered.

There was something powerful about admitting it out loud. Yes, she cared for him. And she had certainly always loved him. She could easily love him enough to be his wife, and spend her life with him. Not only that, she _wanted_ to. She wanted to be with him, and the challenges he had described were nothing. She didn't care how he looked, or if he wasn't a skilled conversationalist, or if he could be a little possessive. She didn't care about that if it meant she could have him in her life again.

She cast a quick cleaning spell over her undergarments and slid them back on, then tugged Thanatos' sweater over her head. It was thick and soft, and fell to about the middle of her thigh, showing more of her legs than she would have liked. She was just grateful that she'd shaved before the dance. The sleeves were too long, so she rolled them up to free her hands.

She carefully folded her mother's dress and held it tightly to her chest. Then she headed out of the bathroom and through the bedroom, down the glowing hallway, through the library, and back out to the dusty entranceway. She skipped down the staircase with a grin. "Now, where is my husband..?" she murmured, looking around. She decided she liked that word, "husband". It felt strange on her tongue—strange and sweet.

The door to the sitting room still stood open, so she tried that first; and there he was.

His wings had vanished into his back again, and he had removed his jacket, draping it over the couch on which he was seated. He sat facing the still-roaring fire with his feet propped up on a plush ottoman. He had unlaced and removed his boots, leaving them standing beside her own. She saw that his feet were gray, with only three long, claw-like toes apiece. He was leaning his head against the back of the couch. In one hand he held a saucer and cup of some steaming tea, a tray of tea and scones on the table beside him. His other arm was draped languidly across the back of the couch.

She approached, but was halted by a deep, low growl. She hadn't noticed the large black dog curled up below Death's feet; but it had noticed her.

"Heel, boy," Thanatos commanded, and the dog lowered his head back down onto its paws. Thanatos turned to face her. "…Hello, Myrand. Feeling better?"

"Much. Thank you," she said with a grin, setting her mother's dress on an empty chair and stepping forward to seat herself beside him on the couch. The dog whined, so she held out her hand for him to sniff. "Hello, handsome," she crooned as the dog licked her hand, his stub of a tail causing his whole back end to wiggle.

"…This is Rodney," Death introduced.

"Is he a hellhound?"

"…Yes. He's…a good boy," he acknowledged, tossing the dog a chunk of a scone. Myrand caught sight of Rodney's monstrously large teeth as he snapped up the treat, a sharp contrast to his wiggly butt and lolling tongue.

"I have an answer for you." Myrand said it softly, but his blue pupils locked onto her and she received his full attention. "I mean, it's still the same answer. I'll marry you."

He set his tea aside. "…Are you certain?" he asked, brow knitted in concern.

She smiled, placing her hand on his arm. "Absolutely."

His eyes searched her face, as though checking for any hint of doubt. In the next moment, he grabbed her and pulled her into his lap, his arms wrapping around her and holding her close to his chest. A small smile worked its way across his face, his eyes shining brightly.

It was an entirely new sensation to feel his hands on her, now that she was clothed in his sweater. She liked it immediately.

One of his hands slid along her back and up her side, coming to rest in the space above her breast and below her collarbone, right over her heart. "You… You will be my wife?" he asked once more for assurance, his voice uncertain.

Myrand nodded. "Gladly."

"Then I claim you, and bind myself to you," Thanatos whispered.

For a second, nothing happened. But then her vision completely whited out. The air was forced from her lungs; her ears rang; her mouth seemed stuffed full of cotton; her arms and legs felt heavy, and too far away. Her heart tightened, as though gripped in a vice.

As soon as it came on, the discomfort also vanished. It hadn't hurt; but the strangeness of it made her head swim and she contemplated vomiting. She regained her breath and blinked up at Death, her husband. "So…we're married now?"

He smirked. "…Mostly, yes."

"Mostly?"

"…It will not be fulfilled until we have…consummated the marriage. Which cannot be done without physical contact. Which I cannot give without your demise."

Myrand blinked. "So I have to die first?"

He nodded. "…Upon your death, I will make you like one of us; you will be nearly immortal. And you and I will be together, in _every_ sense of the word."

"And until then? What are we now?"

He grinned, leaning in close enough that she could feel his cool breath against her ear. "Now you are _mine_," he growled, sending a chill down her spine, but that was nothing compared to what his next words did to her; he added, in something like a purr, "_as I am, and always have been yours_."

There was nothing she could say to that. Instead of speaking, she chose to lay her head on his chest, carefully so as not to touch him. He wrapped his arm around her again, tracing patterns on her back with his sharp fingertips; and he laid his head back, eyes closed, giving her a perfect view of the long, gray column of his neck.

They sat that way for a long time, in silence except for the crackling of the fire.

"I never asked," she murmured against him, "Did your brother make it out okay?"

His hands stilled. "…My brother?"

"Yeah, is he safe?"

"…Safe from what, Myrand?"

She leaned back and looked at him, her expression of confusion matching his. "I saw him at school. We were attacked by professors… Didn't he tell you? How did you know I was coming here?"

Thanatos frowned, brow knitted deeply in concern. "…I… No. No, Rodney. Rodney told me that you were headed this way. I… Excuse me, Myr," he said, lifting her from his lap and placing her back down onto the couch as he stood. "I… I need to make a phone call."

He hurried from the room, running a hand through his white hair. Myrand chewed her lip as she watched him go. She glanced at the hellhound, Rodney, who looked torn between following his master and staying here with the tray of scones. With a sigh, she leaned across the couch and grabbed one, ripping off a piece and popping it into her mouth. It was delicious: crisp on the outside, warm and soft within, not too sweet, with just a hint of lemon.

Rodney crawled over to her, close enough to lay his head on her knee with a whine. She smiled at him. "So, you told Death I was coming here?" He huffed, yellow eyes watching her fingers intently as she tore off another piece. "Thank you." She held the treat out to him and he snatched it up in his powerful jaws, nearly biting off the tips of a few of her fingers. But he licked her hand in thanks, butt wiggling happily as she scratched his ear. "You _are_ a good boy, aren't you?" He woofed in response, a deep sound that would have frightened her if he wasn't currently drooling on her leg.

* * *

When Thanatos returned, she had poured herself a cup of tea and finished off the rest of the scone with Rodney. Her husband dropped heavily onto the couch beside her, long legs stretching to the ottoman, flexing his six clawed toes. "…My brother is safe and on his way here. Can you tell me what happened?"

Myrand took a deep breath and told him all about her night; from Baric's threat, to meeting Hypnos, to his entrapment and their escape, and finally her run through the woods. He didn't seem at all pleased that his brother had left her alone; but he didn't interrupt her except to ask questions she didn't quite know the answer to.

What spells had been used to summon and trap Hypnos? Were the iron chains the result of production magic, or had they already been in existence? Who were the other two hooded men? Had anyone but Baric seen and followed her into the woods?

She answered him as best she could, and then they both fell into silence. She glanced down at her now lukewarm tea, and pulled some heat from the fire into her hands, to warm it until it steamed again.

She was taking a sip when Thanatos turned to her. "…Myrand, I—"

"Oh, brother! Where art thou?" a booming voice yelled from the entryway, and Death jumped to his feet and hurried to the door.

"As good as it is to see you in one piece, brother, keep your voice down. You'll wake the dead."

"Oh, yes, congratulations. A very clever pun," Hypnos sassed, though he spoke more softly this time. "And I fear I'm in one piece only thanks to your little pet. Did she make it out safely? Have you seen her?"

Thanatos glanced over his shoulder at her. "…She is safe now, no thanks to you. How dare you just leave her alone to fend for herself?"

"Oh, she's _here_?" Hypnos gushed, pushing past his brother to get in to the room. "Hello again, little dove. I'm glad to see you safe, especially in spite of my brother's misguided concerns of my care of you."

"You should not have left her alone!" Thanatos growled, and Rodney growled with him.

"I had to travel to Olympus. You _know_ how they feel about bringing _mortals_ there."

"She's only part mortal; and she's _been_ to Olympus before, you forgetful fool!"

"Are you wearing that hideous sweater mother made him?" Hypnos interrupted, wholly ignoring his brother's anger.

Myrand stood, trying to discreetly pull the hem down a bit farther. "I thought it had…character."

"Oh, she'll be thrilled to hear that! Than is convinced that it was meant as a jape, but I do think she meant it in earnest." He glanced at his brother, whose eyes were still just a shade darker than usual as he fumed. "I wish you had seen her before the rain ruined her dress. She looked quite the vision."

"She _is_ a vision," Thanatos corrected roughly, strictly avoiding meeting their eyes. "The dress has nothing to do with it."

Hypnos looked nowhere near as astonished as she felt, though he gave a valiant effort. After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he cleared his throat. "Well. It would seem you've managed to turn even _his_ leaden tongue to silver. I must say I'm thoroughly impressed. You must tell me how you've managed…" he trailed of suddenly, blue eyes wide. Myrand fidgeted under his gaze as Rodney nudged her, sniffing her hand for more treats. "Good Greatness. You're _marked_," he breathed.

Hypnos turned from her to his brother, a grin starting to work its way across his handsome features. "You've claimed her! Oh my Greatness, wait until mother hears _this_!" He turned back to her, arms spread wide. "Oh, _sister_!"

Thanatos gripped his brother's arm, baring his teeth and spinning him back around to face him. "_Somnus_. Control yourself. That is _not_ what I called you here to discuss."

"What? Oh, yes. Right. Of course," he said, trying with great difficulty to suppress his broad grin.

Thanatos gave a long-suffering sigh. "Myrand said there was a knife?" he prompted.

At that, the grin fell completely. He pulled the dagger from his pocket and held it out to him. "It… It looks very bad, Than."

Standing beside each other as they were now, it was easy to tell the two were brothers. Thanatos was taller, and leaner, and, well…gray. But aside from the obvious differences, their features were eerily similar. They had the same strong jaw and straight nose, the same thin lips and wide mouth. While Sleep's hair was a long, wavy mess and Death's was shorter and neat, it was easy to see that the latter's was just a lighter shade of his brother's. And they both stood there in their bare feet, though Sleep had the normal number and shape of toes.

"I took it to Hephaestus," Hypnos said. "He confirmed that the blade is made of iron, mixed with _dragon's blood_."

Thanatos took the dagger, twirling it in his hands, and then dragged the edge along the pad of his thumb. He bared his teeth and hissed at the knife, like a cat would. A thick, black liquid oozed from the cut in his thumb. His black tongue slid from his mouth, unnaturally long, to lick the blood away.

Myrand could feel her face grow hot as she tried not to think of all the places that long tongue could go. This was neither the time nor the place to be thinking about things like _that_.

His eyes snapped to hers and his brow raised; he licked his lips, a corner of his mouth twitching up in a smirk, as though he knew what she was thinking.

"A knife like that could have killed me," Hypnos said, oblivious. "…Or _you_."

Thanatos' attention snapped back to his brother, the hint of a smirk disappearing. "...Me? You think this is about me?"

"It makes sense," Myrand piped up, the pieces fitting together in her mind. Both brothers turned to look at her in unison. "I mean, why else attack the god of sleep? Sleeping is great; I personally _love_ sleeping!"

"Oh, yes you do," Hypnos joked. "Not exactly a 'morning person', are you?"

"Shut up, I'm being serious," she snapped, earning a smirk from Thanatos. "There's no good reason anyone would want to get rid of sleep; we'd all be dead on our feet in a week. Unless _he_ isn't the real target. You said it yourself, Hypnos: their goal in life is to evade death. But if they thought they could do away with him entirely… What better way to lure him in than by attacking, maybe killing the only person they know he would care enough to save?"

Thanatos frowned deeply, glaring at the dagger, which looked grotesque in his elegant hands. After several moments of silence, he asked, "…From where did they acquire this?"

"That's the thing. Hephaestus said it has been…_recently_ forged."

"…But you said it was dragon's blood. There have been no dragons in Creos for hundreds of years."

"Exactly. So either they've had a bottle of dragon's blood sitting around for a few centuries—which is unlikely, to say the least—or they've caught themselves a dragon."

Myrand wrapped her arms around her waist, not liking where this was going. "Can they do that?" she squeaked, shaken.

Hypnos sighed heavily, shoving his hands deep into his pockets. "We sent Hermes as a liaison to the dragons. It seems…one of their younglings is missing. They are already hinting at war."

Thanatos growled lowly, shoulders hunched in agitation. "…Is someone keeping an eye on Ares?"

Hypnos nodded. "Eirene has volunteered to watch him. _Closely_."

"…Good. We don't need him goading the dragons to war with the mortals. Not if we can avoid it."

"I know. And the dagger? It cannot be destroyed, so it must be hidden."

Thanatos sighed. "…I will take it to Hades and Seph on my next visit to the Underworld. We'll hide it there. They'll die before coming close to finding it."

"Very well," Hypnos agreed. "I will assure the others that _that_, at least, has been taken care of."

"…And assure the dragons as well. Their youngling has not been killed, or I would have felt it. The child will be recovered; or it will be avenged. I swear it."

"Coming from you, they might just believe it. I will pass the message along personally."

"They will appreciate that." Thanatos looked to the ceiling with a heavy sigh, then glared at the ground; then he slowly raised his eyes to Myrand, a smile making its way across his features. "…My Myr… You may have saved us all. You clever thing."

She shook her head. "You're speaking of…of a plot to k-kill you, by the professors at my school, and…and _war_! With _dragons_! A-and I gotta be honest with you, I don't feel very clever." She looked him right in the eye, for once not trying to hide her weakness. "Thanatos, I feel _afraid_."

He stared at her for a long time, uncertain.

"Rodney," he called, and the dog went to his side immediately. He held the knife out, and the hellhound took it in his mouth. "Take this home. Give it to Lady Seph, and tell her to hide it, somewhere no mortal can find. Tell her I will visit soon to explain. And then return here immediately, so you can protect Myrand."

The dog woofed once around the dagger in his mouth, and then vanished into wisps of black smoke.

Thanatos then glanced at Hypnos, who raised his hands in surrender. "Alright, I can take a hint. I'll leave." He turned to grin at Myrand. "I am glad to see you again, my lady. And even more glad of that which my brother will not permit me to speak. I imagine I'll see you again soon enough."

And then he was gone again.

Thanatos stepped up before her, sliding one arm around her waist and placing his other hand on her chest, above her heart, where he had marked her. She leaned into him, craving his strength.

"What do I do now, husband?" She felt the shiver that ran through him when she called him that.

"…I don't know, wife. Not really. This is…an entirely new challenge. One I'm not certain we are prepared for." He sighed, pulling her closer. "I do know that we must find that dragon youngling, or we have no hope to avoid a war. And if your professors are to blame, then the most likely place to look would be your campus."

"So… I do need to go back there?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders, bending to look her in the eye. "…I am afraid so. But you will not be alone. I will send Rodney with you, to protect you. And I have something for you." He stepped over to his jacket, pulling something from the pocket. When he turned back around, she saw that he held a small black box. He held it out, dropping it into her outstretched hand.

She opened it; inside was a bright blue gem set within a round black stone, all perched atop a gold ring. When she slid it onto her left ring finger, it was a perfect fit, though how he could possibly have known her ring size was beyond her.

"…This will give me an…an avenue to you, no matter where you are. You need only say my name, and I will come to you immediately, regardless of any enchantments that may try to bar my way."

"Even at school?"

He nodded, running his hands up her arms soothingly. "Yes. Even there. I said that I would never leave you. I fully intend to keep that promise."

Myrand tugged the sleeve of the sweater down past her hand, and raised it to press against his cheek. "I know you will."

He sighed, his eyes drifting closed, leaning heavily into her hand. "…Oh, Myrand…" His voice was soft and tight, as though the words pained him. "…Why do they hate me so?"

She bit her lip. He had always masked his pain with anger and hate; she had never heard him admit that the world's poor opinion of him bothered him. To see him like this was frightening. "Because they don't understand you. And mortals fear what they don't understand, and hate what they fear."

"…That's not _fair_," he spat. "For all the good I do them…"

"I know, my love. I know."

A corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. "…You don't hate me? Even though I took your parents from you?"

"No, of course not, husband." She rubbed circles against his cheek with her thumb, wishing she could feel his skin. "They were in so much _pain_…and you gave them relief. How could I possibly hate you for that?"

His eyes opened, a bright purple, and he watched her carefully. "…What I wouldn't give to be able to kiss you now," he murmured.

"Well…why can't you? I mean, you can lengthen or shorten someone's time at will. Why not mine?"

He pulled away from her slowly, dropping down onto the couch. He rested his elbows on his knees and hung his head, pressing his fingertips together. "…I could do that, yes. But I won't. You… You deserve to be happy, and to enjoy your life. You do not deserve to have this life cut short due to my selfishness and impatience. We will have plenty of time to be together; that day will come in its own time, and not with haste."

She went and sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Could you at least tell me how much time I have left?"

"I could do that as well. But I don't think you really want to know."

"No, I suppose not… But… But what if I don't die until I'm old and senile? And then you'll be stuck with me, wrinkled and feeble and forgetful, _forever_?"

He chuckled at her fears, leaning back and letting her rest her head in his lap as he gently stroked her arm. "I assure you, your fears are unfounded, my Myr. When I come to take you, I will kiss every inch of your body, with or without any wrinkles. It will make no difference to me. And if you become forgetful, I will remind you. I will not let you forget me."

"You promise?" she asked softly.

"…I promise."

"Mmkay," she murmured, snuggling against his thigh. "I'll hold you to that."

"…I would expect nothing less."

She stared into the fire, her eyelids growing so heavy. After a long pause, she asked, "Do you think I'm a meatsack?"

He barked something close to a laugh. "…Of course not, Myr. You are so much more than that. You are so much more than…anything I have ever known." She smiled at that answer, until he added to it, "Although, you would be the prettiest sack I've seen…all of your meat in all the right places…"

She smacked his leg, earning an actual laugh from his throat, deep and rolling and smooth, and all of her annoyance disappeared at the sound of it.

He gave her arm a squeeze, then settled his hand into the dip of her waist. He set his strange feet back up on the ottoman, flexing his toes. She heard the clinking of china and his grunt of displeasure. "My tea is cold…" he grumbled. She peeled one eye open and lifted her hand to his cup, transferring heat from the fire. "…Oh. Thank you, wife."

"You're welcome, husband."

She knew she was dozing off, but there was one more thought that her sleepy mind forced her to ask. "Thanatos? Do you bring death to dragons, too?"

"…As I said; I have many forms."

"Even a dragon?"

"…Yes, Myr. Even a dragon."

"Hmm. I want to see all of your, uh…forms."

"Someday, dear. But now you need to get some sleep." She groaned in protest, and he chuckled. "It's alright, Myr. I'll be here when you wake up."

She placed a hand on his knee. "Do you promise? Because if I wake up and this was all a dream, I… I don't think I could bear it."

He sighed. "…You have asked so much of me already. But I suppose I have it in me for one more promise tonight."

"Is that a yes?"

"…That's a yes, my Myr. Now go to sleep."

* * *

When she woke, she knew she had been moved. She was no longer curled up on the couch, but spread out on a mattress of cloudlike softness. She was warm as well, but her feet were hot. When she opened her eyes, she found that she was surrounded by soft black pillows, and sheets, and blankets; she was in Thanatos' bed. Rodney was laying on her feet, snoring heavily, his huge paws twitching in a dream.

"…Good morning, dear. Your friends are on their way here."

She sat up, jostling Rodney, and looked around. Death had pulled the armchair up beside the bed, and was sitting in it with an open book in his hands and a pair of square-framed glasses perched on his nose.

"You wear glasses?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

He slowly raised his eyes from the pages to give her a withering look. "…My eyes are not designed for the perception of words on paper," he informed her, his tone dry.

"I'm sorry, love, I don't mean to laugh at you," she explained. "It's just… You're just so…_cute_!"

That gave him pause. He closed his book and removed his glasses, folding them up and tucking them into his breast pocket, brow lowered in confusion. "…I do not believe anyone has ever referred to me as 'cute' before."

"Yeah, well, better get used to it," she told him, lifting her arms above her head and stretching until her back popped, "because I think you're adorable." At her feet, Rodney mimicked her, thrusting his front paws out before him and stretching.

"…I have much to get used to, I think."

She wasn't certain if that was meant as a complaint or not, but she smiled regardless. "You said I had friends coming?"

He nodded, placing a hand to his knee and standing, holding the book at his side. "...Yes. Béa and Tristan, and someone else I'm not familiar with, are coming here in a car. I assume that meatsack told them you were here."

Myrand groaned, sliding out of the bed. "I'm sure he did. Well, let's go get ready to meet them, then."

He nodded, striding over to the door and holding it open for her, then leading her back out to the entranceway. The torches had gone out; but the rain had stopped, and now sunlight forced its way in through the grimy windows. She couldn't wait to get in here and clean the place.

They stopped into the sitting room, where she tugged on her boots and snatched up her mother's dress.

"…Before you go, I have a couple of things for you."

She turned to Thanatos, who had deposited the book and now held a small black bundle. "For me?"

"…It isn't much." He shook out the black fabric, holding it out to her. "One of my old cloaks. It will protect you from my touch, as well as from most attack spells. I hope you will not need such shielding; but it will give me peace to know you have it."

Myrand took it from him, tugging it over her head. It slid over her skin like a liquid, smooth and cool.

"…There is also this," he murmured, holding up a heavy metal key and dropping it into her palm. "It goes to the front door of this house. You are always welcome here, at any hour, for any reason."

"Thank you," she murmured softly, before thrusting herself into his arms. "Oh, Thanatos, I don't want to go back there… I don't want to leave you…"

"I know, Myr. I don't want you to leave either." He lifted the hood of the cloak, dropping it over her head so that he could hold the back of her head, tucking her in close. "Oh, Myrand…"

She clung to him for a long time, and he held her, too, as tightly as he could. But all good things must come to an end. Too soon, they heard the creaking of the front step and someone pounding on the front door.

"_Randy!_" she heard Tristan yell, his voice muffled. "_Are you in there? Randy!_"

Myrand pulled from her new husband reluctantly, placing her small brown hands on his broad chest. He placed his hands on either side of her face, the fabric of the cloak's hood separating them; and then he kissed her forehead through the fabric as well.

"Remember that you are mine, Myrand. And I will protect that which is mine."

She smirked. "And remember that _you_ are now _mine_, love. And I fully expect you to protect me."

He chuckled. "…That's my girl." He released her, turning to the hellhound who was watching them carefully. "Rodney, go with her. Be a good boy; keep her safe." The dog woofed. Outside, Tristan continued pounding on the door.

Myrand gripped her new house key in one hand, held her mother's dress in the other, and headed out to the entryway with Rodney at her side and Death trailing behind. "I will find that baby dragon, love. I promise you."

"…I know you will, Myr. My clever girl. And you may call me or come see me whenever you wish."

She smiled at him, her hand on the door handle. "I know, Thanatos. I will see you soon."

He bowed his head, but she caught sight of the smile he tried to hide. "…I am already looking forward to it…_my love_."

Her heart jumped into her throat and her breath caught. He had already asked her to marry him, and had marked and claimed her as his; but those two words were what brought a smile to her face as she pulled open the door.

Tristan jumped a full length into the air in surprise at the sight of her. "Oh, _shit_, Randy! God! Don't _do_ that!"

She flashed him an apologetic grin. "Sorry, Kells. Didn't mean it."

Behind him, in the drive, Béa and Sylvie stood beside a clean white car—probably Tristan's. Béa still wore her green dress from last night, though her golden hair now fell limply past her shoulders, and her eyes were rimmed with red. Myrand felt a sharp pang of guilt at having made Béa worry.

"What the _hell_ are you even doing out here, Rand?!" Rodney jumped past her, growling lowly. "Whoa! Shit! Where'd that dog come from?"

"Heel, boy," Myrand ordered, and the hellhound obeyed. "His name's Rodney. Come on, let's go," she said, brushing past Tristan and heading for the car.

"No, but seriously, where'd the dog come from? And what're you doing in this old ghost house? What the hell _happened_ last night?"

She ignored him entirely, stepping into Béa's open arms and letting the older woman hug her tightly. "Are you alright, Myra? Are you hurt? Did someone hurt you?"

"I'm fine, Béa. I promise." She pulled from the woman's embrace, looking to Sylvie who was watching everything with wide, fearful eyes. "Sylvie. Hello again, dear."

"I-I'm glad to see you safe. Can… Can we get out of here now?"

She laughed, though she knew it sounded hollow. "Yeah, let's go."

"Uh, that mutt is _not_ getting in my car," Tristan tried to tell her.

Myrand opened the back door and slid inside. "The dog comes with," she said, in a tone that left no room for debate, patting her lap. Rodney jumped up, though he was much too large to fit comfortably. She pulled the door closed behind him, to keep him from falling back out.

"Myrand. What the hell. I don't even know where that dog came from!" Tristan fumed as Sylvie and Béa both climbed into the car.

"…He was a gift," she admitted softly.

"A gift, Myra?" Béa asked gently, as though afraid to upset her. "From whom?"

Myrand smiled, looking out the window to the open front door, soon finding the two blue lights that watched her from within the dark house. "From my husband."

There was silence in the car. Tristan got in and started it just for something to do. "Myrand—"

"Tristan, look, I'll explain what I can when I can. But for now, can we just go…" she hesitated. For the past five years, she had referred to the Institute as "home". A single night had changed that entirely. Thanatos wasn't there; so that place could not possibly be her home. "…Can we go back to school?"

After a moment's hesitation, Tristan put the car in Drive and began to pull away.

Rodney whined miserably as the mansion faded into the trees. She pulled the dog close, burying her face into his shaggy black fur. "I know, boy," she whispered, squeezing the key in her hand tightly, "I know. But we'll see him again soon. I promise."


	5. No Rest for the Weary

Author's Note: Hello again, dears! I say this every time, but I am sorry about the delay. I was hoping to have something up for Christmas, but I'm afraid that my life got disastrously busy again. Writing this has been a much-needed distraction, but the things going on in my life have been a bit...unconducive to writing. Please forgive me. I hope this chapter will be worth the wait!

The general consensus seems to be that longer chapters are preferable, so here's another behemoth! I was hoping to make it even longer, and possibly to include a section from Thanatos' point of view, but it just wasn't in the cards. I didn't want to keep you guys waiting any longer. Also, I'll be going to spend the day with family tomorrow, so I was hoping that reading all of your wonderful reviews and messages would make my day a little less miserable, and make my family a little more tolerable. So if you'd like to tell me what you think of this story/chapter, or just want to say hi, I will cherish every message I get.

I hope you all have a wonderful year! I'm pretty sure that starting the year off by reading this chapter is good luck, so you'll definitely want to do that. I love you all, and thank you so very much for reading!

* * *

Chapter Five - _No Rest for the Weary_

Aron Temm, headmaster of the Stavos Magical Institute, looked around at the five men in his office with contempt. Not necessarily contempt for them. Perhaps it was a contempt for life, for everything that had happened. On top of the events of last night, he had received a letter from his wife's non-magical lawyer today. Their one year of no contact was finally up, and she was asking for a divorce. Though they had been separated for seven years, there was a time when they tried to patch things up, and then at least to keep in touch. He was surprised to read that it had been a year since he had last seen or spoken to her. It was probably nearly as long since he had last even thought of her.

He had loved her, once. Maybe. It was an arranged marriage: his magically gifted family was prominent, but had fallen on hard times; her family was wealthy and without magic. The pairing was logical if nothing else. He had at least_ tried_ to love her. When she begged him for a child, he'd tried to provide one. When that didn't work, he agreed to take the potions his healer gave him, just as she took the pills from her doctor. And, so many years later, when she fell ill after giving birth to their son, he actually gave in and agreed to take full responsibility of the boy's care, since she could not.

Their son had inherited a small portion of his father's magic, as well as his mother's knack for making Aron's life miserable. The first time he'd attempted to change the boy's diaper, his hair spontaneously caught fire, and he was left completely bald for weeks. After a few more incidents like that, he and the infant finally reached some sort of begrudging compromise. Then something strange and totally unexpected happened; Aron Temm began to love his son Piter more than life itself.

When she recovered from her illness, Aron's wife grew jealous of the bond between her husband and son, and became even more difficult to love.

After the incident, any semblance of love he'd felt for her was destroyed.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, glaring at the unsigned documents on his desk. "Anyone care to explain to me how we had our target well contained, and then were all incapacitated by a single girl, who proceeded to set him free and escape with the only weapon we had that could actually harm him?"

His question was met with silence. Eventually, Elford attempted a suggestion. "We could always make another knife. We can start again."

Aron shook his head, stepping over to the window and glancing down into the courtyard. "No. It's too risky. We must assume they know by now that we have the beast; if not, they will soon enough. Its cries are already too loud for my comfort. If we perform the operation again, it will surely be heard. The girl is too clever. She will recognize the sound for what it is."

"The girl has run off," Lehman spat bitterly. "Into the woods, they're saying. If she was that desperate to get away, she'll be too afraid to ever return here. And that's if she hasn't been eaten by something—a redcap, or a manticore, or—"

"The girl is _not_ afraid. I'm looking at her now," Temm corrected, pulling the curtain back for a better view of the brown-skinned girl in a long black cloak walking across campus, a large black dog at her side. She halted her steps, feeling his gaze on her. Lowering the hood of her cloak, she turned to meet his eyes with hers, totally unafraid. He did not falter beneath her intense gaze. He would not allow this child to expose him as weak again.

The creature beside her followed her gaze and growled, displaying unnaturally long, dangerous teeth that assured him this was no mere dog. She lowered her hands to its head and lowered her eyes, muttering something to her pet. They continued on their way, not once looking back.

"The girl is protected," he informed the others. "We would be wise not to underestimate her again."

The room was once again cloaked in silence. Carter was the one to break it now. "What do we do?"

Temm sighed, striding over to his desk and placing his hand on the king figurine of his toy parrotball set. It had been a birthday present for Piter, who had loved the game immensely. All sixteen figurines were intricately carved and set into a polished wood base to replicate the court. Each tiny player could be moved to a different position, and the other team's players would move in accordance, cycling through every formation that could be made to parrot that move. They would keep moving forever, until that team's king was touched and the formation decided.

Piter had been taken from him before he'd had the chance to give this to him.

Aron Temm advanced the little king. "Now we wait," he told them, listening to the gears whirr as the little wooden men moved around. "We have made our move. Now we wait for them to parrot it."

* * *

Myrand shook herself, hurrying her steps. So Temm knew it had been her, and now knew that she knew it had been him, and everyone just knew too much…

"I don't like this, Rodney," she murmured. The dog licked her hand, trying to be comforting. "Thanks, boy," she chuckled, giving his ear a scratch.

He was the perfect height to walk beside her, his head coming to about her waist. He stayed at her side loyally, without a need for any guidance—though she still kept her hand on his head for her own comfort. Most students had gone home for the weekend, or were in their rooms recovering from the dance—and especially the after-party. Any students milling about outside stayed well away from her, and Rodney made sure to bare his teeth to keep them at a distance. Everyone had heard stories of blackdog attacks. The professors told gruesome tales of the beasts in the forest to keep students from wandering in—and with his extreme size, pitch-black fur, and yellow eyes, Rodney definitely fit the bill. He was a great comfort.

She had finally finished explaining what she could to Béa and Tristan, as well as a reluctant Sylvie, who had no desire to know of the existence of the Grim Reaper. Myrand tried not to tell them much about him; the plot to kill the gods seemed much more pressing than her personal life, though the two seemed to be indelibly linked now.

When Tristan had finally run out of questions to ask, she had excused herself, planning to go crawl into bed and hide from the world, and maybe give Thanatos a call. Now that he was back in her life, she had this aching desire to see him again. He was like an addiction she'd once managed to break; now that she'd had another taste, she needed so much more.

But her feet had led her here instead. At first she'd thought she was just going for a walk. She always loved how the world felt after a late Autumn storm: the smell and feel of damp earth beneath her boots, the thick gray clouds crawling lowly through the sky, and the cold wind that threatened with the chill of coming winter. The whole world felt cool and refreshed, made new in both fear and hope.

And now she found herself ascending the steps of the chapel, and heaving open the thick oaken door. Maybe she was seeking her own renewal.

Empty were the rows of pews, of which there weren't many. "Sorcerers have no need of gods," or so the saying went. But even the Stavos Magical Institute had an altar to the Great One, though very few students or professors ever visited it. On the shelves along the walls stood hundreds of half-melted candles, vestiges of past prayers. Only a cluster of purple candles still burned, where Armand Fero knelt, praying for his grandmother and her ailing health, as he did every day, as he had for at least as many years as she'd known him.

To her right there was a stand, from which hung three baskets full of unlit candles. The black candles were for prayers of lament, grief, and mourning. Gold candles were for prayers of thanks and praise, reminiscent of the offerings of gold men had once sacrificed to the Great One, before production magic had become so prevalent and the value of gold plummeted. It was no sacrifice if you could make more as easily as breathing. The purple candles were for prayers of request; the dark color to represent the worry and fear of an unknown future—but it wasn't quite black, to show the hope and assurance that the Great One would come through. Myrand took one of each; then changed her mind and grabbed another purple.

"C'mon, boy," she murmured to Rodney, who stayed at her side as she headed for the front. She passed behind Armand, laying a hand gently on his shoulder. He smiled when he turned and saw her there, and she held up the extra purple candle. "For Granny," she informed him softly.

His smile broadened, and a hint of tears appeared in his eyes. "Thank you, Myrand," he whispered.

She nodded, gave his shoulder a squeeze, and left him to his prayers. She found a clear space further on and set her candles down. Calling a small flame to the tip of her finger, she lit each one carefully. Beside her, Rodney stretched his paws out in front, lowering his muzzle to the ground in something like a bow before laying down completely. She frowned at the strangeness of it, but then remembered the times Death had spoken of the Great One in the past. Perhaps even hellhounds worshipped Him. She shook her head to clear her mind of such thoughts, and sank to her knees and bowed her head.

"I know we haven't spoken in a while. Sorry about that. I guess I just sort of…ran out of stories," she joked. Her first counselor at the school had been a devout man, convinced that her "hallucinations" were the result of some deep-rooted sin met with her obvious pagan worship. He made her pray for hours every day, for forgiveness from her idolatrous ways. She was sure she hadn't sinned enough to fill so much time, so she'd taken to telling Him stories instead. At first, she'd told stories about Death, and the troubles she'd gotten into at the orphanage with a gift of magic and an invisible friend. As time passed and she began to doubt ever having known Death, she'd told him other things. Mostly she repeated tales of her father's adventures, as he'd told her when she was a child. For a while she'd tried making up her own stories…but she'd stopped praying entirely years ago. She'd forgotten how.

"I don't really know what to say. I had a…a rough night." She wrung her fingers together, staring at the ring on her left hand. "I ran into my friend again. Death. Turns out I wasn't crazy. Or I still am. Not really sure yet. I think we're married? And I think some people are trying to kill him, which is, apparently, a thing that can happen. I am…beyond grateful to have him back in my life. But I can't—I can't… I can't lose him again." She dropped her head into her hands. "I can't lose him again! Please, I know you're not cruel. You wouldn't give him back to me just to take him away again. Please don't take him away again…"

Myrand wiped her eyes and stared at the candles. "I can't do this on my own. I need help. I need your help."

She sat there, staring at the flames in silence, for over an hour. Armand had left, and her candles were nearly gone, just four burning wicks in a pool of melted wax. There was something off about them, something not quite right, but she just couldn't put her finger on it. She leaned forward, squinting her eyes, trying to find what was wrong about…the flames…

The flames were _leaning_, as if blown by a steady breeze, or…or _pulled_ by some magnetic force. She looked around. The door was firmly shut, there were no open windows, and she could feel no breeze.

She lurched to her feet, startling Rodney who had been dozing, and scooped the flames into her hands. She fed more magic to the fire, and still it leaned, pointing toward the east. "Oh, God…"

She glanced up at the altar. "_Thank you_… Rodney, come."

The dog scrambled to his feet, easily falling in at her side as they ran out of the chapel. She took a deep breath when they got outside, calming both her nerves and the growing breeze. Instead, she pulled the magic from the wind into her hands, flinching back as the fire leapt up, faster and higher than she had anticipated; but immediately the flames were pulled away from her face, the tail still trailing to the east.

"This way, boy!" she cried, trying to run with one hand stretched before her, the fire guiding her way. She heard heavy footfalls, and Rodney woofed urgently. She turned to see what he wanted, then whirled and skidded to a stop, her boots sliding through the damp earth so smoothly she nearly stumbled. Rodney stopped before her, his heavy paws sinking into the ground. He had grown to nearly the size of a horse. For half a second, Myrand could do nothing but stare.

"…That's a neat trick."

The hellhound crouched down, and Myrand leapt onto his back. She released the fire from her hand, throwing it out in front of them, and smirked when it continued to fly off on its own, carried along some invisible path. "Rodney, _fetch_!"

It was a stupid thing to say. He took off so fast she was nearly thrown from his back, saved only by her thought to grip him tightly by the scruff of the neck. This only seemed to spur him on, and he charged even faster, weaving around buildings and leaping over screaming students, never once losing sight of the fire. They crossed campus impossibly fast, careening to a stop before the old water tower, where the door was now on _fire_.

"Whoops!" She hopped—well, _fell_—off of Rodney and ran up to the door, scooping the flames back into her hands. "Crap. Okay. I really should have thought that through. Okay. We're okay." Rodney was watching her carefully. "Shut up. C'mon." She lowered her shoulder and shoved at the door, jumping back when the hinges gave way and the door feel inward. Rodney stepped closer, looking over her shoulder at the wrecked door. "Shut up. That wasn't…_totally_ my fault."

With a huff, the dog brushed past her, shrinking down to his usual size so he could fit through the empty doorway. Myrand followed him inside reluctantly, afraid of what she'd find.

"It's trying to get below us," she told him, trying to wrangle the ball of flame that tried desperately to escape her grasp. "Do you see any stairs?"

This was one of very few buildings that Myrand had never entered. It hadn't been used to store water since before she'd been born. It smelled of mold and decay, and she could hear the scurrying of dozens of creatures scrambling to get away from the light of the fire. But there was another sound as well. It sounded like crying.

"D'you hear that, boy?" Rodney whined in response, scratching at a door far in the back. Myrand ran over and turned the ancient brass knob. The ball of fire ripped from her hands and tore down the spiral staircase, nearly pulling her with it. Rodney gripped her cloak between his powerful jaws, tugging her back up. The cries grew in volume, an otherworldly echo of misery. A wall of frigid air crashed into her, and the stench that came with it brought her gagging to her knees. Rodney nudged her shoulder with a whine, and she pressed her face into his fur. "Okay. I'm okay, boy. Thank you." She lurched upright. "Well. Let's see what we've got, then."

They went down the stairs slowly and carefully, with only a small ball of blue light to guide them. She eventually grew accustomed to the tepid stench, though the air only became colder and bitterer. The cries grew louder and more miserable.

It felt as if they'd been walking for hours, when finally the glow of the light reflected back up at her, and her boot sank into something with a squelch. The cries ceased immediately.

The light Myrand held could not fully illuminate the cavern they'd entered, so she shook it out and lit another fire. The flames were snatched from her fingers the very instant they were produced, flying out across the surface of some still, verdant pool. She saw a large white mass, an enormous green eye, and a deep black void before the fire was snuffed out and all was plunged into darkness. The cries began anew, louder and more desperate than before. Heart pounding, Myrand pulled the cloak and sweater off and cast them aside, and plunged into the pool and tried to run to the white mass.

It was freezing cold, and chilled her straight to the bone. Six long, slow strides had her chest-deep, which was blessedly as deep as it got. Though there was a layer of what appeared to be water on the surface, below was a dense, viscous substance that made quick movement impossible. It was undoubtedly the source of the rancid smell. As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw that the green goo gave off a very weak light as well, enough for her to make out the outline of some mass rising above the surface, and she made her way toward it. The whine turned into a low, menacing growl as she approached.

"Easy, there. It's alright. I'm here to help. Is it fire you want?" She held out her hand, offering a larger fire than before. "It's all yours."

She felt movement in the liquid, and he turned his head to watch her with a pair of bright green eyes, carefully considering her offer. Slowly, those eyes began to rise, revealing a huge white head with a long snout, covered in scales. The dragon opened its mouth; where Myrand expected to see rows of long teeth, there were none. It took a ragged breath, tugging the fire from her hand and into its dark, empty mouth. In the darkness, she heard the splash of its head falling back into the liquid. The dragon seemed too weak to lift it.

Myrand surged forward, pushing through the rank gel, conjuring more fire. "Come, sweet thing, put your head on my shoulder," she instructed gently, grateful that the creature let her approach. It couldn't lift its head high enough, so she snaked her arm in beneath its jaw and heaved it up onto her shoulder, wrapping her arm around its snout to keep it there. The weight made her knees buckle, and its scales were cold as ice against her, but still she held on, shivering. The dragon sighed as Myrand held the fire against its cheek, and she watched in amazement as the flames licked and crawled beneath the scales, seeping into the flesh below. She lit her entire hand aflame, caressing its snout and cheek and neck—anywhere she could reach—with fire. Its eyes slid closed, and it sighed again.

"There you go, my sweet. It's alright now." Her fingers ran over a wide groove where there were no scales. The dragon yelped and tried to flinch away from her; she held onto him tightly, but moved the fire far away from what she now realized was a wound. "I'm sorry, oh, I'm so sorry… Oh, you sweet thing, what have they done to you?"

The dragon looked at her, its eyes full of pain and misery. A single tear spilled over and ran down its cheek, falling with a splash into the pool below.

Myrand's heart constricted, and her own eyes welled up as she came to understand. The layer of water above the strange green gel had been made with tears.

She had to look away, and focused instead on the ring on her left hand, wreathed in flames. "Thanatos," she called, praying he would hear her," Come quickly, my love. _Please_. I need your help!"

"_What_-?" His voice echoed in the makeshift dungeon, and she turned to find Death standing beside her, black eyes open wide, taking everything in. His blue pupils locked on the dragon in her arms. "_Gerektel_. Oh, no, what have they done?"

"Thanatos?"

He turned to her, looking frightened for the first time since she'd known him. "This is the son of the king of dragons," he breathed.

"He's so cold," she murmured, her own teeth chattering.

Death nodded, seeming to remember himself. "…He needs fire. Lots of it."

Myrand looked at her husband. The sorrow she'd felt just moments ago was ebbing away, replaced with a tide of rage. "Then we'll burn this building down. The whole school if we need to."

Thanatos stepped close, easing the dragon's head onto his own shoulder instead. When he turned to look at her again, his eyes were glowing red. "…Yes. Get outside and start the fire. We'll meet you when he's strong enough to move."

She nodded, trying to wade through the filth. Something wrapped around her waist; she gasped, ready to scream, but it lifted her up out of the brine. The thick cord wrapped twice around her body was covered in white scales. The dragon's tail pulled her out and over the pool, uncoiling enough to set her down on the steps beside Rodney, who hadn't ventured out into the muck.

Looking back, the dragon's head sagged against Death lower than before; he had spent all of his energy in carrying her out. "Thank you," she murmured, trailing her fingers along his tail, feeding him more fire. "I will burn _everything_ for you," she promised.

She snatched up her clothes and took off up the stairs, running on pure adrenaline and fury. Her rage rolled off of her in tongues of fire, licking up the walls as she ran past. The fire reached the top of the stairs before she did, and she barreled through the burning doorway, tucking her clothes in at her chest to keep them from catching. She spun in a circle on the main floor, the flames forming out around her, crawling up the walls. She watched them climb, catching her breath. With every heavy exhale, they gained another few lengths, devouring the ancient wood with a fierce hunger.

When it reached the roof, Rodney barked at her urgently from outside. A burning beam crashed down beside her, and she jumped and ran out. She always tried to avoid fire, and thus anger, in her magic. It was far too unpredictable, dangerous, and _consuming_ for her liking. If Rodney hadn't gotten her attention, she likely would have stood there watching until she passed out from smoke inhalation and burned to death.

Students were already gathering outside to gawk at the fire. Aron Martinsson, a fourth-year servant student, pointed at her, and now they were all staring instead at her, standing there in her underclothes, her skin coated in green goo. She slipped into Death's black cloak and turned away from them. It would be best for her to run them off, to scare them far away from here. But at this point she didn't care. Let them watch. Let them see what their esteemed professors had done. The water tower blazed bright, a pillar of fire, coaxing students out of their dorms despite their hangovers. The smoke rose up, disappearing into the dark sky above, too dark for the hour.

Without warning, someone dug their fingers into her shoulder and spun her around roughly, and she dropped the sweater in surprise. "_What the hell have you done, you little bitch?_" The headmaster snarled at her. The other professors were there now too, yelling at students to return to their dorms. Everyone ignored them, attentions fixed elsewhere. Myrand soon understood why.

In an instant, Rodney was there, snapping his long teeth at Temm and shoving the man away from her with his huge paws. He grew before their eyes, back to the size of a horse as someone screamed, and he lowered his head and growled menacingly, baring his teeth.

A different hand gripped her shoulder, gently this time. Myrand turned to find Hypnos there, glaring at Temm. "I did not expect to see you again so soon, my lady." He broke his glare and smiled at her, correcting himself, "My _sister_."

She wanted to respond, she really did. But her mouth would only hang open uselessly. Hypnos was not alone.

Night had indeed descended early; Lady Nyx stood behind her son in all her dark fury, her glowing silver hair and pale skin a stark contrast against the darkness that clothed her like a dress. At her side stood her husband Erebus, a man so cloaked in shadow that his features were imperceptible unless viewed indirectly, like stars in the sky.

Behind them flocked a veritable legion of the gods and goddesses of old, descended together from Olympus for the first time in centuries. Some she recognized from her vague and disjointed memories of her visit to Olympus, paired with the descriptions she'd read in the book. There was fair-haired Iris with her golden wings, and above the ground beside her flew youthful Hermes, wielding his staff. There was tall and lovely Artemis, Myrand's father's great rival, with her bow in one hand and the leash of her snarling hunting dog in the other; and her twin Apollo mirrored her with his own bow and a gray wolf. Broad, red-bearded Ares and the bright-eyed, stern beauty Athena were fully armored and armed to the teeth. One of the twins of the Dioscuri sat tall upon the back of a proud white horse, glaring from beneath a wide-brimmed hat.

She could not place the rest: the handsome youths and bearded men, willowy women and buxom beauties, daemons and Olympians and nymphs and sprites. They were all exceptionally beautiful, and all extremely angry. Just what had she gotten herself into?

"_Myrand!_" She turned to find a frightened Béa screaming at her. "Oh my God, Myrand, get away from there!"

Oh, great. So now _everyone_ can see them. Fantastic.

"No, Béa, it's alright! I'm alright!" she tried to assure the frantic woman.

"You have no idea what you've done, you ignorant child," Temm hissed, glaring at her while standing well away from the snapping hellhound. "You have condemned us all."

"You're wrong!" she snapped, shaking off Hypnos, her hands balling into fists and lighting on fire, manifesting her anger. "_You're_ the ignorant one, and _I am not a child!_ The dragons are ready to burn us all to ash; but if we give their son back, _maybe_ they'll spare us from a fiery death. Though I doubt we'll have much chance after they see what you've _done_ to him!"

"Myrand," Hypnos asked, placing his hand back on her shoulder, "_What_ have they done to him?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but a loud groaning and rumbling cut her off. Myrand whirled; the structural components of the water tower had finally succumbed to the heat and flames. It all caved in on itself, crashing down through the floor, below the ground, disappearing from sight with an almighty crash. There was stillness for a moment, as though the whole world was holding its breath. Myrand's heart stopped—Thanatos was down there!

An unearthly roar shook the ground. A jumble of black feathers emerged from the hole, then extended up, stretching to form a gigantic pair of wings. Beneath them rose the gray, skeletal form of a full-grown dragon, climbing out and standing on his hind legs, towering higher than the water tower had been. In his forearms was curled the dragon prince, Gerektel, his white scales stained green from that god-awful goo.

The dragon of Death stretched up high, his wings spanning the skies, and _roared_, terrible screech that shook Myrand to the core. His empty eye sockets were full of red light as he curled his long spine and set Gerektel down gently in the grass. Then he dug his claws into the soft ground, stretched his neck toward the students and professors, and roared again.

Myrand ran forward, surging through the crowd of gods, who stepped aside to let her pass—and they stayed well away from the flames that spread from her hands up her arms and engulfed her entire body.

She ran first to Thanatos, but he pulled back and away from her, avoiding physical contact. So instead she hurried over to Gerektel, kneeling beside him. He blinked up at her and raised his head, resting his chin on her legs and pressing his snout into her stomach, breathing in the fire that encased her. She ran her fingers down the length of his snout and between his eyes.

"There you go, my dear. Feeling better? You look stronger." His throat rumbled in a kind of purr. His toothless mouth opened, and a long, thin, pink tongue slid out and rose up to lick her face. She laughed breathlessly. "Thank you… I promise we'll get you out of here, and safe. We'll do whatever it takes." A tear rolled from his eye, it sizzled when she wiped it away.

"…Myrand…" Thanatos' voice rolled from the mouth of the skeletal dragon. She tried to smile at him, aware that it was forced.

"This is not the way I was hoping to see you again, my love," she murmured.

He nodded, leaning in as close as he could without touching her. "…This is not what I was hoping for either, not for anything. Myrand, all of his… His teeth and claws have been removed. His wings have been cut off. That substance they had him in kept him too cold to produce fire, which a dragon _needs_ to survive."

"Does he need more fire?" she asked. "I-I'll make more. I'll burn _everything_."

"I know you would, my Myr… But it would be better simply to return him to his family. They will know how best to help him."

"Then let's go. Right now!"

He shook his head. "…No, you can't go with us. I'm sorry. Their rage will be unspeakable when they see him like this at the hands of mortals. If you're there, they will kill you." He pulled away from her, whirling suddenly and advancing on the professors, the gods diving out of his way. "Do you hear that? Do you realize what you've done? Do you have _any idea_ the danger you've caused?"

"You don't scare me," Temm defended, stepping forward, "My time has not yet come."

"Your time is _mine_!" Death bellowed, snapping his sharp teeth, "and _I_ decide when it ends." He reared back, looking around at the terrified students, most too scared to move, the rest too afraid to miss out on the most excitement this school had ever seen. "…I would end you now, but then you would not be alive to face the consequences of what you have done. If the dragons declare war, I assure you, you will live through it, that you may watch all these innocents perish in flames and know it was all your fault."

"We have done _nothing_ wrong!"

"You kidnapped and tortured a dragon!"

"He was trespassing on our land!"

"_It was their land first!_ Until you meatsacks ran them from it, with your _knights_ and your _quests_, and your _dragonbone spoons_. Even _I_ lost count of all the men I pried from melted armor, granting them death when I should have let them _burn_ for their senseless persecution of a race that desired nothing more than to be _left alone_!"

Temm laughed in his face. "Oh, yes. Your kind is ever so good at leaving others alone, aren't you? How many centuries has it been since you _abandoned_ Creos, and everyone in it?"

There was a cry of outrage from among the gods. Nyx stepped forward, her dark dress trailing behind. "_Abandoned?_" she cried, her voice as melodic as a song even in her fury. "We gave you magic, and you did nothing with it but decide that you didn't need us anymore. We honored your wishes, and _this _is the thanks we get? _You tried to murder my sons!_"

"Our world is in ruin, and you sit idly by," Temm accused. "With your powers, we will set this world to right, as _you_ never did."

The shadows of Erebus' body shifted, and suddenly he stood beside his wife, placing a calming hand on her arm even as he glowered menacingly at Headmaster Temm. When he spoke, his voice was soft and impossibly pervasive, as though he was whispering directly into the ear of every person there. "_Our _power? You obviously are not responsible enough to handle what little you have. You could never hope to wield our power."

From there, everything dissolved into an unintelligible argument of angry shouting. Some of the students were openly sobbing now, frightened beyond belief. Myrand couldn't let this go on any longer. With a smile, she kissed the tip of Gerektel's snout. "Wait here a moment, sweet thing. Let me go put a stop to this foolishness." He licked her face again, and then raised his head, and actually held it in the air long enough to watch her stand, a vast improvement from earlier. She shucked the fire from her skin and left it burning in the grass beside him before turning and diving into the fray.

Myrand had always been tall for a girl. She had inherited much of her father's build, and it had taken her years to grow into her long and unwieldy limbs. Compared to the gods, however, she felt like a child. They all towered over her; but it made it easy to slip through them. They didn't seem to notice her at all, except for Thanatos, who ceased shouting as soon as he saw her and watched her closely as she darted forward. She reached the front lines, and took one step into the narrow stretch of grass between the two groups.

She took a deep breath, turning her rage into concern for the young, wounded dragon. When she was calm, she opened herself up completely to the magic around her. It was more than she'd anticipated—the presence of the gods added greatly to the strength of magic here—but the strength of her concern gave her the focus to handle it.

She closed her eyes, hoping it wouldn't hurt too much. A single bolt of lightning shot down from the dark sky, crashing into her body. The energy surged dangerously—painfully—through her veins, and her heart raced to accommodate. Myrand gasped, her eyes snapping open from the sensation. She sighed in relief to see that her display had had its desired effect, and all present had stopped fighting to stare at her.

"_Enough!_" she cried, voice hoarse from the strike. She took a shuddering breath and repeated herself, "…Enough…" Everyone had jumped back away from her, except for Thanatos, who only drew closer, hovering at her side. She turned to him. "This childish bickering isn't doing anyone a bit of good. He's doing better, but you're right; he needs to be returned to his family. And then maybe you can convince the king not to destroy us all, and we can be done with this idiotic farce."

Temm could hold his tongue no longer. "_What_ 'king'?"

Myrand glared at him, holding up her hand to silence him, sparks glowing between her splayed fingers. "Still your tongue, or I swear I will rip it from you… Or maybe just your teeth and fingernails, though that pain would be nothing to that which you have wrought on the prince of dragons."

"The _crown_ prince of dragons," Thanatos corrected, his red eyes glaring at Temm. "The youth you _kidnapped_ is Gerektel, firstborn son of Melket-Melektel—king of dragons and firstborn son of Melket-Kiro, the Great King, who saved his people from persecution and led them out of Creos—by Melkah-Kikti, the noble queen of dragons and daughter of Gerektah the wise." Thanatos pulled back, stretching his wings and growling lowly. "If we are at all able to avoid a war, it will only be due to the wisdom and compassion of my wife. But I must leave her here for now, and I assure you, if even a hair on her head is harmed while I'm gone, I will annihilate everything you've ever loved, and leave you alive to endure it."

Temm barked a bitter laugh, taking one step forward. "_You already have._"

Thanatos leaned back in surprise, and then stretched his long neck forward until his sharp teetch were less than a length from Temm's face. He spoke slowly and softly, so that only Temm and Myrand could hear. "…I remember your son. I remember _everyone_. Piter would never have wanted this. And I am sorry, but you cannot bring him back. Nor can I."

With that, he turned and walked back to Gerektel, the gods scrambling out of his way since he seemed wholly unconcerned if they did or not. Myrand trotted along beside him, glad that he walked slowly so she could keep up with him.

"Will you come and see me, once you've left the dragons?"

He turned to look at her, his eyes finally shifting to purple, and then a dark blue. "…Yes, of course, if that would make you happy." She smiled and nodded. "…You must wear the ring, or else I cannot come to you here."

Myrand laughed softly. "Are you kidding? I'm not taking this off, not ever." They had made it back to Gerektel now, who had curled his long, slender body around the fire she'd left him. He raised his head to look at her, and she scratched his chin, not certain if he could even feel such sensation through his thick scales, and wishing she could touch her husband as she could him. "My husband will get you home safe, my sweet. We will make things right. I hope I get to see you again some day." He licked her face once more, with another purr, and she laughed.

She failed to notice the intensity of Death's gaze on her. "…I forget that you actually want to spend time with me. I've never experienced that before. Forgive me, I am…adjusting." He reached forward, scooping up Gerektel again and standing on his hind legs, his long wings trailing on the ground.

Myrand wrapped her arms around one wing, burying her face in his soft feathers. "I love you, Thanatos. Be safe."

He peered down at her, then bent over for enough to press his snout against her torso, nuzzling her through the cloak. "…I will. And you be safe, too, my love." He reluctantly pulled away, turning to address the gods. "…Hermes, with me." The dark-haired youth with wings on his shoes flew over everyone's heads, hovering near Thanatos' skull. "The rest of you, return home. There's nothing more we can do here. I'll let you know how it goes with Melektel. Myrand…" He looked down at her again; she got the feeling that, if he had muscles and skin, he would be smiling. "…I will see you soon."

He unfurled his enormous wings; with three powerful beats, he was out of sight. The rest of the gods began to disappear, one at a time. Hypnos strode over to her, treading lightly in his bare feet, and placed his hands on her shoulders with a grin. "It's good to see you again, little dove. Would you like for me to stay, until Than gets back?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thank you. I've got Rodney with me," she reminded, as the dog trotted over and placed his slobbery jaw on her shoulder and Hypnos drew away in half-hearted disgust. She nodded in the direction of the professors: Pith and Rose were speaking together in low voices; Lehman and Carter were shouting and shoving students back to their dorms; and Elford had covered his face and fallen to his knees sobbing as Temm placed a hand on his back, a grim look on his face. "Anyway, I don't think they're going to try anything. At least not tonight. I'll be fine."

He nodded with a wry smile. "And when my brother tries to accuse me of neglect again, you will tell him that I offered to stay and _you_ said no?"

"Of course I will," she laughed.

He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "Then I take my leave of you, dear sister. Take care." With that, he disappeared again, and she wondered if she would ever get used to that. At least with Thanatos, there was a lingering black smoke that made his vanishings seem a bit more gradual.

She tried to snuff out the grass fire, when she heard two sets of footsteps approaching. Assuming it was Béa and Tristan, she took a deep breath, steeling herself for their disapproving, concerned, and frightened expressions. But when she turned, it was to find radiant Nyx and dark Erebus. Nyx had Thanatos' black sweater, that Myrand had dropped, and held it out to her.

Myrand accepted it with a shy smile. "Thank you, my lady. I would have been very sorry if this had been lost."

Nyx grinned, turning to Erebus, obviously proud of her handiwork. "I am glad to see it finally getting some wear. When Hypnos told us his brother had taken a wife, we…well, we found it difficult to believe. We are very glad to see that it is true."

"Indeed we are," Erebus agreed in his strange, soft voice. Myrand could feel his eyes on her, though she couldn't actually see them in his shadowy face. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you seem…better than we expected. I'm very much looking forward to getting to know you better."

Myrand bowed her head, trying to hide the blush she could feel creeping into her cheeks. "Thank you both. I'm sure I don't deserve such praise."

Nyx put a hand under her chin and made her look her in the eye. "Oh, sweet child, I'm sure you do. My son Thanatos is…difficult. And angry. He tolerates us well enough, but even that just barely. The affection he showed you today, though not much, is more than I have ever seen from him. That alone speaks volumes of your character, as also does the bravery that you exhibited today. You have saved the lives of my sons. It is I who should be humbled by you." Nyx kissed both of her cheeks.

"We should get going, love," Erebus suggested, placing his hand on the small of his wife's back.

"Oh! Yes, of course." She grinned at Myrand again. "Oh, it is just so lovely to meet you. I do so hope to see you again soon."

They both stepped back and turned to leave, but Myrand called out to stop them. "My lady?" Nyx stopped, and turned to look back at her. Myrand dropped her gaze, fiddling with the sleeve of the sweater in her hands and feeling silly for asking such a thing as this. "I-it's just… I know that you make clothes for Death, ones that will keep his touch from killing mortals. And I was wondering if, maybe—whenever you had the time, of course—you could possibly make him a pair of gloves?" She glanced up just long enough to see the goddess' surprised expression, and then looked down again. "It's just that I would like to be able to hold his hand sometime. Preferably before I die. If it's no bother. I would like that very much."

Myrand glanced up when she received no answer. The noble, proud Layd Nyx met her eyes…and then, without warning, rushed forward and wrapped her arms around her in a tight embrace. Myrand froze, too far beyond surprise to move.

"Oh, thank the Great One! Yes, oh, yes; I will make you anything you want!"

Erebus stepped forward. "Nyxie, love, I think you're scaring the young lady."

Nyx laughed, pulling back just far enough to be able to look at her, but did not let go. "I think you're right, Eru. I'm sorry, dear Myrand. Please forgive the foolishness of a long-suffering mother. I thought… I mean, I knew that Than cared for you. But to hope that…that you might _love_ him, too, seemed just too fantastic to even dream. But you do, truly, love him, don't you?"

Myrand stammered for a moment, caught off guard by the question. "I-I, uh… Yes. Very much."

"Oh…" Nyx pulled her in close again, and this time Myrand could think enough to wrap an arm around her and return the embrace. "Eru always told me there was a reason, that one day Than would meet someone that would see him as we do. Oh, Myrand, I will make a hundred pairs of gloves, sweet girl." Finally, Nyx let her go, and stepped back to stand beside her husband. "Your mother was a very dear friend of mine, Myrand. I hope that you and I will be very dear friends as well. We must go now; but it was an absolute pleasure to meet you."

They disappeared before she could respond, the sky immediately brightening back to where it should be at this time of day. She glanced at Rodney. "Good first impression, you think?" He licked her face, which she took as a yes.

She took a look around. All of the gods were now gone, as well as most of the students. Of the professors, only Headmaster Temm remained, standing with his arms crossed and glaring fiercely right at her. She ignored him, turning to Béa, who looked to be trying very hard not to cry. Myrand went to her side, taking her arm and pulling her away, leading the older woman back to Pell Hall, the female servants' dormitory. "I don't know about you; but I need a shower something awful," she tried to joke, earning a faint chuckle.

* * *

It took Myrand a long time to scrub the green goo from her body; but finally she could shut the water off, wrap herself in a towel, and head back for her room. She didn't get very far—the hallway was packed with students, who all turned to stare at her in a towel.

"Uh… Hi, umm…_everyone_."

They kept staring, until someone started pushing through from the back. "Randy! There you are!"

Myrand groaned, hanging her head. "I should have known… Kells, what the hell is this?"

He made it through the crowd and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "Listen, I'm really sorry about this. If I'd known you were in the bath… But, look, these guys, they wanna know what's going on. There's only so much I can tell them, and… They deserve to know, Myrand."

She chewed her lip, thinking. She didn't want to incite panic, but it was probably too late for that now. And Tristan was right; they deserved to know why two dragons and a slew of ancient deities had shown up to burn down a building and harass a few professors.

"Fine." She looked around at all of them. "I'll tell you what I know, if you really want to hear it. Let me at least put some clothes on first." There was a cry of, "No, don't!" followed by a wolf whistle. She recognized the voice as that of Keto Folton, Armand Fero's ostentatious boyfriend; so she showed him the common-tongue gesture of "go fuck yourself" with a broad grin and shoved through the crowd and into her room, slamming the door shut—and in the process startling Rodney, who was snoozing on her bed.

She slipped into a pair of black pants, and pulled on Death's sweater. She took a deep breath, trying to talk herself out of locking the door, climbing into bed, and telling them all to go fuck themselves until she'd had a nap—telling Keto twice. She closed her eyes and opened the door, facing down the crowd of frightened students.

"Alright, then. Let's move this party to the dining room."

It took hours to explain everything, and to answer all of their questions. When she finally stumbled out of the dining room behind the deluge of students, she wanted nothing more than to fall into bed—literally any bed. But she had one last stop to make, so she left the building and trudged over to Echo Hall and its library.

When Thanatos finally appeared in her bedroom, she was sitting up in bed, reading the book on ancient mythology, with Rodney asleep at her feet. He smirked at her, blue eyes sparkling. "…Bit of light reading?"

She laughed, placing a bookmark on her current page, about the goddess Nemesis. "Just studying up on your family tree. Your parents are lovely, by the way."

He groaned, unbuttoning and removing his jacket. "…I am sorry about that. It was not my intention to have them all show up as they did. News travels fast with us."

"It's alright. They helped get the point across, I think… How did it go with the dragons?"

He tugged the book from her hands and set it on her nightstand, then sat down beside her and wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. "…Not well. They're beyond angry. But I think there is a chance. Gerektel told his father much about you, and how you helped him. He may be able to convince them that not all mortals deserve to be roasted. And all because of you, my love."

She sighed, gripping the front of his shirt. Oh, how she wished she could feel the skin beneath. "Can you stay tonight?" she asked softly.

"…No. I'm sorry, I cannot stay for long. I need to get to work soon."

She nodded. "Okay. Can you stay until I fall asleep? I promise it won't be long."

"…Yes, I will do that."

"Thank you," she murmured. They shoved a reluctant Rodney further down the bed, and lied down together, her head on his chest and his arms around her. "Will you tell me a story? I like to hear your voice."

She felt his chest rumble as he laughed. "…I don't see why not. What would you like to hear?"

"Something happy. Maybe about dragons? We don't have much literature about them, and I'd like to know more."

"…Happy, about dragons? There aren't many, but I think I know a few. Have I ever told you about Melket-Kiro?"

She shook her head no, snuggling closer to get comfortable for the story.

"…Kiro was a black, earth dragon," he began, "and already quite old when they decided to leave Creos. Dragons live for a very long time, you know; they're nearly immortal, though not quite. And they're fiercely independent, with the exception that they bond very closely with their mates, and raise their young together. They had never had a king before, and never worked in groups. But they would need to, in order to escape from the persecution of men and find a new home. And Kiro had a plan…"

* * *

When Myrand woke the next morning, Thanatos was gone. In his place, she clutched the book of myths against her chest with both arms. And on her nightstand had been placed a glass vase full of bright-red poppies.


	6. Take Your Mortal Wife to Work Day

Author's Note: Hello again, my dear, sweet, long-suffering readers! I'm sorry that I was absent for so long. This semester has been kicking my butt; and on top of that, I rewrote this entire chapter at least three times before finally having something that I was pleased with. I apologize in advance for any errors that might be in here, and I'll try to get those edited out as soon as possible.

Gosh, I'm really excited about this chapter. I worked really hard on it, so hopefully you'll like it, too! Also, I'm thinking that the chapter after this one will be written from Thanatos' perspective, and will likely be titled something along the lines of, "Persephone is a Bad Influence". So let me know if that sounds like something you'd be interested in, or if that's a stupid idea. And let me know what you think about this chapter, too! I love you guys, and I really hope you like this! Thanks for sticking with me so far!

* * *

Chapter Six - _Take Your Mortal Wife to Work Day_

"It's alright, baby, it's alright. He isn't mad."

The beautiful woman smiled sweetly at her, her hair and skin glowing with soft, white light. Everything about her was soft, and gentle, and kind.

"He isn't mad… He's just acting like a child. Mamas and papas do that sometimes. All adults do."

The woman's face became blurry and unfocused. Myrand blinked, trying to see her clearly again, trying to convince herself that they weren't tears, that the water that drenched her hair and skin and clothes had dripped into her eyes and made the woman blurry. They weren't tears.

"Even though we get older, we still have all of those past years stored up inside us, and sometimes we have to let them out. You don't always only have to be the year that you are. It's okay to be a child sometimes."

The woman's hands caressed her cheeks, wiping away what weren't tears, her touch gentle and warm, and her smile even warmer.

"It's okay to be a child sometimes…"

The door creaked open slowly, the big man walked in, and the door fell shut. He didn't slam it—Myrand saw that clearly. But the woman's softness quickly turned hard, and her white light became a blazing gold, and she let Myrand go and balled her hands into fists.

"This is not one of those times."

She turned on her heel and faced the big man, and everything got blurry again.

"I don't want her in the ocean. I don't want her anywhere _near_ it."

"She _loves_ the water! You know she does! And she loves the beach, and the sand, and the fish, and she _wants_ to go in the ocean. I won't punish our daughter because you are afraid of your father!"

Myrand screwed her eyes shut. She didn't want to see this, even if it was blurry, and she didn't want to hear it, either. She wished she were under the water again, where everything sounded quiet and far away. He didn't like the ocean, and he didn't like the river—it was too fast for her, he said, and it led right out to the ocean, which was the worst. He didn't mind the pond so much; it wasn't as big or as fast or as fun as the river, but she wouldn't mind to be there now.

"I'm not afraid of him, and it isn't a _punishment_, Stavia! It's for her own good. It's for her protection. I don't want her near him; _I won't let him take her from us!_ You don't know him like I do."

"It certainly feels like I do. It feels like I've _married_ him, 'cause you're certainly acting like him now!"

Myrand just wanted to be underwater again. She wanted not to hear anything again. She wanted to feel weightless again. There was water all over her; and there was water on the beautiful woman; and there was water in the basin in her parents' bedroom; and there was water in the sink. She imagined it all coming to her, covering her, making her own ocean so she could float.

"Don't say that! How could you even say that? I only want to keep both of you safe, which is _nothing_ like him!"

"Orion, darling, she's on the ceiling again."

"_Wha_—? Oh. I'll get her… Myrand, baby?"

When she opened her eyes, everything was both blurry and upside down. The big man raised his big hands, pulling her and the water around her down from the ceiling. With a swipe of his hand, she fell into his arms, and the water flew across the room and down into the sink. He looked like a giant, and she felt like a bug in his arms.

"There you go, baby girl, I've got you."

Her vision blurred again, and she couldn't blame it on the water anymore, so she buried her face in his shoulder. He had great, big, broad shoulders, perfect for crying into.

The woman was soft and white and gentle again. She placed a warm hand on Myrand's back. "She's so powerful already…"

"I know." He put a hand under Myrand's chin, wiping her tears away with the rough pad of his thumb. "You're stronger than I think you are, aren't ya, bug? Strong enough to prove your silly old papa wrong." He sighed. "Tomorrow, we'll all go to the ocean. The three of us, together."

Cheering, she wrapped her arms around his thick neck.

Grinning, he nuzzled her cheek with his cold, wet nose.

Wait…

_Cold and wet?_

With a choked scream, Myrand lurched up in bed, throwing the book in her hands across the room where it crashed into her mirror, which fell over and shattered into oblivion. Rodney scrambled away from her, his big paws slipping on the sheets until he fell off the bed with a whine.

She flung off the covers and hopped off the bed, kneeling on the floor beside him. "Oh no, I'm so sorry. Are you okay, boy? Oh, I'm so sorry!" He hopped back up to his feet with a woof, happily licking her face and wiggling his butt. With a laugh, she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his fur. "I'm sorry I scared you. You scared me, too." He licked her face again and again until she had to push him away. "I love you too, but I need to take care of that mirror."

He nudged her in that direction, and she crossed around the bed and muttered a repairing spell. She watched the pieces of mirror rearrange and restore themselves with disdain. "You're a bit too late on the bad luck, there. I've already had my seven years…"

There was a knock on the door, and Béa's melodic voice came floating into the room. "Myrand, are you alright in there?"

"I'm fine! Sorry! I just knocked my mirror over, but it's fine now."

"Okay, dear. Can you fix it?"

"I already have. Thanks for checking on me!"

"Of course, dear."

Myrand scowled at her reflection in the newly repaired mirror. Her curly hair was usually unruly, but it was an absolute nest now, after her impromptu nap. Béa was always telling her that she should grow it out, but it was just…

"Such a _hassle_…" she groaned, halfheartedly running a hand through the mess of curls before deciding to just give up. Thinking that it was almost time for a trim, she knelt and picked up the book she'd been trying to read before accidentally falling asleep. She hadn't been sleeping well, not since they found the dragon; not since Thanatos had told her a bedtime story.

She hadn't seen him since then, either. Three days was much too long.

With a sigh, she set the book on her nightstand, beside the vase of poppies. She always kept a basin of water in her room—for emergencies—and she pulled a handful up and out of it to refresh the flowers. Water manipulation was as easy for her as breathing; but this time, it reminded her of that damned dream, and her hands shook, and some of the water missed the vase entirely and splashed onto the book and the nightstand. Muttering Old Tongue curses to herself, she quickly pulled it back up and tossed those few drops into the vase, running her fingers over the cover of Chisto Eckton's _Production of Magical Tools for the Manipulative_ to make sure it was completely dry. It was rare to find books intended specifically for people gifted in manipulation magic, and this school had a ban on instructional texts of combat magic. Eckton's book just barely made it in because, along with swords and battleaxes, it also taught production of hammers and screwdrivers and the like. Even so, it was the school's only copy of the book that she knew of, having found it tucked behind a row of other books on the bottom shelf in the deepest corner of Echo's library; she would hate to have ruined it because she couldn't keep a level head after a bizarre dream.

Behind her, Rodney whined and scratched at the door, jarring her from her thoughts. She turned to find him staring at her with pleading eyes, paw raised pitifully on the paneled door. Strange…

"What is it, Rodney? You want to go outside?" He woofed, scratching with renewed fervor as she scrambled to get into her boots. "Okay, okay, we'll go outside! Just don't murder my door!" He finally let up, leaving a sprinkling of wood shavings on her floor, and watched her lace up her boots, butt wiggling in anticipation.

She'd never taken him out before; occasionally he would simply disappear from her side in a puff of smoke and return a few moments later; she just assumed that those were trips to eat and relieve himself, and she tried not to ask questions. But he practically danced around her when she finally stood and went to the door, and she wondered what could possibly have him so excited about going out.

She swung the door open and nearly walked right into Revah Coleman, who was standing with a delicate fist raised and poised to knock. Myrand visibly jumped—no one ever came to visit her! —but she prided herself on managing to suppress the cry of shock that fought to escape her throat. She had frightened Béa enough today.

Composing herself, she tried to clear her throat. "Oh! Umm, hey, Revah. You scared me there. Is, uh… Is there something I can do for you?" _And what the hell are you doing here?_

"Oh. I'm sorry. Do you have a minute?"

Rodney whined, so Myrand put a comforting hand on his head, scratching his ear. "We're going outside. You're welcome to join us."

"Alright."

Rodney led the way, prancing through the halls to the front door, where he spun in circles waiting for someone to open it. Béa always kept a bowl of fresh fruit on the hall table beside the door, so Myrand plucked one out and took it with her out into the courtyard that separated the male and female servants' dorms. To the east stood more of the surrounding forest; indeed, the male servants' dorm was closer to the tree line than any other building on campus. Myrand had suspected for many years that it was intentional—so that, if forest monsters ever decided to attack, their nearest target would be…expendable.

It was a clear, bright, and beautiful day, though cool enough to assure that winter was well on its way. Myrand wrapped her arms around herself for warmth, wishing she'd thought to grab something more substantial than her thin green sweater. "Alright, boy, where are we going?"

Rodney woofed at her and held one paw up in the air, as though he was ordering her to 'stay'.

"What, you want me to wait here?"

He nodded his head sharply with another woof.

"…Okay, I guess. You're acting really weird, dog!" she called after him as he turned and ran off into the woods. Taking a bite out of the kuda fruit, she shot Revah a glance out of the corner of her eye. "So…are you done for the day, then?"

The younger woman shook her head. "No, I'm just waiting for Professor Kent to release her history class so I can clean it. She's lecturing about the Torridus Epoch, and you know how she gets."

Myrand laughed, taking another bite of her fruit. "Oh, I remember the last time she taught one of the servant classes. She gets so into it! I didn't think she'd ever let us go."

"Are you done for the day?"

"Mm. Yeah. I finished…" she took a glance up at the sun, trying to gauge how long she'd slept. It couldn't have been long. "…A few hours ago. Maybe four."

"Four _hours_ ago? Don't you clean all of Echo Hall by yourself?"

"I was assigned all of Stellar as well, as punishment for destroying that one classroom." The glass and salt chalk had been a real pain to get out of the carpet, even with magic.

Revah shook her head in disbelief. "There's no way that you finished cleaning two buildings by yourself four hours ago. There's no way!"

Myrand shrugged, chuckling. "I taught myself a shit-ton of cleaning spells in my first couple of years here. By now everyone knows I'm pretty gifted, so I don't have to worry about getting caught using advanced magic anymore. Takes me hardly any time at all."

"What? Really? You are so lucky!"

Myrand smiled, remembering the look on Lehman's face this morning. She had walked right into one of his classes in the middle of lecture with just a bucket of water and a feather duster, and then stood there with her arms crossed as the water flowed out of the bucket and scrubbed the floor and windows and the duster cleaned the shelves and desks. Then the water returned to the bucket, and the duster tucked itself behind her ear, and she gave him a curtsy and walked out without a word. "I gotta admit, it feels good not having to hide what I can do."

"Greatness! And you taught yourself? That is truly amazing. Your gift is wasted in servitude."

She shrugged. "It pays the bills. At least, it will one day. I hope."

Revah opened her mouth to say something else, but the sound of leaves rustling and something being dragged along the ground—something _heavy_—made them both turn to look. At first, all they could see was Rodney's back end coming out of the forest underbrush; but soon enough his whole body cleared the bushes, and they saw that he had his mouth around the neck of a dead hart and was dragging it into the courtyard. He released it for a moment, just long enough to look back and make sure that Myrand was still where he had left her, and then picked it up again and started dragging it her way.

"Oh, I hope that's not for me," she muttered, thinking of all the "gifts" Rodney had brought her over the past few days—mostly sticks and things that he found on the ground and that he wanted her to throw for him; though also once a dead squirrel he had chased, caught, and killed, and fully expected praise for having done so; and yesterday he'd snatched a book out of the hands of a passing student and brought it to her, she assumed because he saw how much she liked books.

That had been a fun apology, after the boy stopped screaming about being attacked by a blackdog and wailing about how it was a sign of his impending death.

In hindsight, she probably needn't have pointed out that, technically, _everyone's_ death is impending and it's just that some are sooner than others. Perhaps Thanatos wasn't a great influence on her.

Rodney stopped several lengths away, laid down beside his kill, and began to eat. His sharp teeth and powerful jaws made quick work of the creature's flesh and bones.

"Oh. You're going to eat that. Okay. I'm really not sure if that makes me feel better or worse." Myrand glanced down at the half-eaten fruit in her hand. The noise of Rodney's meal alone was enough to rid her of all appetite. "You want this, too? I'm not gonna eat it. Or anything else. Ever again." The hellhound made no sign of acknowledgment, but when she rolled the fruit in his direction, he caught it under one huge paw and kept it there, as if saving it for dessert.

Myrand looked over at Revah, who might have been swaying slightly and definitely looked like she was about to be sick. And it would probably be the most beautiful sick of all time, as though carved of marble by a master sculptor. "You don't have to stay, you know? I don't want you to have to see this." Here in the middle of the courtyard, anyone could see it if they only looked out the window, and Myrand didn't care if they did (_except for Béa—oh, Great One, please don't let Béa see _this_!_). But, Revah… Well, Myrand could count on one hand the number of people she'd comforted since coming to this infernal place, and even though this was the first time they'd spoken since that day, she still had a bit of a soft spot for Revah Coleman. She still thought of that frightened young woman who had cried on her shoulder and knew, no matter what Revah did, Myrand would always have a desire to protect her.

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice shaking slightly, "I need to see if that classroom's open, anyway…"

"Yeah, okay. I guess I'll see you around, then."

Revah hesitated, and then placed a delicate hang on Myrand's shoulder. "I… I just wanted to…thank you, Myrand. You probably don't even remember this, but when I first came here, you stayed up all night with me and… Well, it meant a lot to me, and I never thanked you for that. And now, with everything that's going on, I just wanted to make sure I told you, in case something happens. It really meant a lot."

Myrand was speechless. Revah turned and began to leave, so she called after her. "Wait! What, umm… What do you have after lunch tomorrow?"

The younger woman turned back around with a look of surprise and apprehension. "I clean the basement classes in King after lunch. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking… I mean, if you wanted to, maybe I could meet you there, and we could clean it together, and I could teach you some of my spells?" She sort of blurted it all out in a rush, and it seemed to take Revah a moment to comprehend what she'd said.

She took two steps nearer. "…Are you serious?"

Myrand felt her face flush. It was a stupid thing to ask, she knew, and now Revah was going to think she was stupid… "I just thought… I've tutored Kells—I mean, Tristan—some, and that seemed to go okay. But, y'know, if you don't want to, that's fine too."

"Myrand, that would be wonderful!"

…Oh. "Oh! Really? Okay. Yeah. I, uh… My magic is mostly manipulative, but I'll swing by the library and pick up some books better suited for production. And I'll, uh… I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yes, I will see you then! Oh, Myrand, thank you!"

"Sure thing!" she called, waving her off. Revah gave Rodney and his meal a wide berth, heading for the history classrooms of Dorell Hall.

Myrand stooped to give Rodney's ear a scratch. "Did you kill that all by yourself, boy?" He woofed without raising his head, which she took as a yes. "That's quite impressive. You're such a good boy." He wagged his tail, his whole butt wiggling as he ate.

She straightened up, chuckling, and then crossed her arms and scowled at a group of passing students.

She had never been very good at fitting in here, even when she used to pretend to be the timid, obedient, humble servant girl everyone expected her to be. And now her reputation had taken an even greater turn for the worse. The professors had made an official statement, that the events of All Hallow's Day had been a production put on by the school's Drama Department, though it wasn't a very convincing cover-up. There was still some disagreement of whether Myrand was supposed to be involved, or if she had stepped in and ruined the play. More so than that, Keto Folton was the brightest star in the department, and for some reason he had believed Myrand's story and had been adamantly and loudly defending her since Temm first made the announcement.

Regardless, many students were content to believe what the school told them to, despite the overwhelming evidence against it. Now, on top of everything else she had ever been called, Myrand was also a liar.

She had always been too hotheaded for her own good, even when she was pretending to be someone else. It felt so good to not be afraid anymore, to be able to openly scowl at students, to not hide what she could do. She no longer had to worry about being found out, now that everyone knew full well that she was so strong. She didn't have to keep her magic so tightly bound within her; she could let it fill her up, let it rush through her veins, let it roll through her like a wave.

Maybe that was the cause of the dream. Maybe tapping into her magic again had also tapped into the memories she had kept buried so deep.

She hadn't thought of that day for years, but she remembered it so well. Mama had taken her to the ocean without telling papa, but he'd discovered them in the woods along the path back home, dripping wet, and had immediately figured out what they'd done. He hated his father, Poseidon, with such a passion that he avoided the sea at all costs. Despite his affinity for water manipulation, he rejected that part of himself and became a hunter, relying on the instincts and magic given him by his dryad mother. But he had his father's temper, no matter how hard he tried to calm it, and he'd been too angry to even speak to them on the long walk home. He'd been so upset…

But he had kept his promise, going along with his wife and daughter when they went to the beach the next day. He'd been visibly agitated the whole time; but as always, the god of the sea made no appearance, no acknowledgment that they were even there.

He had not even come to Olympus, the day Thanatos had brought her father's body before the gods. Myrand had come to understand a lot of things that day, not the least of which was Orion's hatred of the god of the sea.

She was jarred from her thoughts by the shock of a raindrop against her skin. She looked up at the clouds that had accumulated overhead, and took a deep breath, trying to ease her agitation from the complex memories and her anger toward her grandfather, to dispel the budding storm.

Rodney looked up from his meal to check on her with a whine. With a smile, she bent and patted his head. "I'm alright, boy. Just being nostalgic. Don't worry about me." He went back to his meal, and she held her hands out, pulling water out of the clouds and forming it into an orb that she could hold. She focused on that rather than the lingering memories, clearing her mind of everything but the water in her hands and her upside-down reflection in it. She let it shift into different shapes—the key to water was to always keep moving—and wished that she could try out the swords and shields she'd read about in Eckton's book. She was no longer afraid of using magic in public, but using combat magic outside where anyone could see her would push her luck much farther than she felt comfortable with.

"Oh. Oh-oh-oh! Oh, Greatness, shit-fucking-God! Oh, sweet Aron's balls."

Myrand whirled to see Professor James with his hands on his knees, gagging. Rodney looked up to see what the commotion was about, but quickly turned back to his meal.

"You okay there, professor?"

He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, looking up at Myrand and trying to avoid looking at the dead deer. "Yeah. Yeah, I just—_shit_. Oh, that is disgusting. I was not expecting that."

"Yeah. Sorry."

He stood up, still looking like he could vomit at any time. "I'm sorry about my…language, Ms. Oria. Has, uh… Béa hasn't seen this, has she?"

"No. At least, I don't think so. Greatness, I hope not."

"Okay. I'll see what I can do to keep her inside."

"Really? That'd be great, thanks. I'll try to get this cleaned up quickly." She nodded to the bouquet of flowers in his hand. "Are those for her?"

He grinned bashfully. "Yeah…" He held them out for her to see, a lovely arrangement of pinks and purples and reds and blues. "D'you think she'll like them?"

"She'd like anything from you. But I think she'll especially like these."

"Y-you think so? I mean, uh…right, yeah. Of course." A blush crept up his neck and cheeks, blending in with the red of his short beard.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but Rodney suddenly lurched to his feet and grabbed the hart around the neck again. They watched in silence as he dragged the carcass back to the trees.

"Well. Cool," Myrand said with relief. "That takes care of cleanup, then."

Not quite so relieving was the sight of the tall, xenomorphic shadow-creatures that spread up and out of the bushes and trees, wrapped around the body of the hart, and dragged it off into the forest.

Rodney trotted back to her side, spread out on the grass, and began chewing on the kuda fruit she'd thrown him before she was able to gather her thoughts and say something, not taking her eyes off the space where the creatures had disappeared. "Any idea what that was?"

"Nope. You?"

"Nope."

"Cool. Never going back in the forest alone?"

"Never ever."

"Yeah." Professor James cleared his throat awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh… Anyway… I've been meaning to talk to you, Ms. Oria. I, uh… I saw what you did. On All Hallow's. With the, uh…lightning. Have… Had you done that before?"

"Ah, once or twice, I guess," she answered with a shrug.

"And can you do that with…other things?"

"What kinda things?"

"I dunno, um… Like, wind? And water?"

Another shrug. "Yeah, I suppose. Why?"

He leaned in, watching her very intently. "And you'll be turning 21 soon, right? And taking your exams?"

Myrand took a step back, crossing her arms defensively. "What is this about?" she demanded. At her tone of voice, Rodney raised his head and growled lowly, watching James closely.

"Hey, easy there, tiger. I was just wondering what you were planning on doing after school."

She frowned, trying to keep her apprehension under control lest she caused it to start raining again. "What's it to you?"

He grinned. "You know, as your professor, I'm obligated to tell you not to be so disrespectful… But as a friend of Béa's, I gotta say I think it's good that you're so defensive."

She raised a brow at him. "Yeah, well, _no disrespect_, but I'm a servant so you're not _my_ professor. And I'd say you're a bit more than 'a friend' of hers."

He chuckled, nodding his head. "Alright, alright. Look, here's the thing: my uncle owns an energy farm up north, in the Stergil Mountains along the coast. He's getting along in years, and has been looking for someone who could take over when he's gone."

"…An energy farm?"

"Half of it is wind, water, and solar. The other half, though, is all on the lightning harvest. He's got twenty rods set up on the mountain, and he does it all without magic. He's not got a drop of it. And I think your…particular gift could be just what he's looking for."

She bit her lip, thinking about it. She hadn't really had much of a career plan except to see what offers came in after she took her exams. Recently, she had modified that plan, thinking that if nothing good came by, she'd just live in Death's house until she could find a job. But this, converting her magic into energy, _harvesting lightning_… This was something she could get behind. "What would I be expected to do?"

He shrugged. "I'm sorry to say I don't know much about it. But if you're interested, I'll write to him and find out. Would you like me to do that?"

She thought about how it felt to wield lightning, to feel all that energy and power and heat racing through her bones. "Yeah, actually. I think I would."

"Excellent! He's a good man, I'm sure you'll find. I'll write that letter tonight and have it sent by morning. But first," he said with a grin, "I need to deliver some flowers."

She stepped aside to let him pass, and watched him go with a smile. Professor Edric James had started teaching at Stavos a year before Myrand had arrived. As the Institute's youngest—and arguably handsomest—male faculty member, he had early on been pegged as the sort to fall for a student, and either create a scandal or wait until the student's graduation. But he was crazy about Béa Tamblin (and had been for as long as Myrand had been around), despite the fact that she was five years his senior and of inferior social status. Béa was much more reserved, much less willing to openly pursue a relationship; but Edric James never gave up, his attentions never drifted, his eyes never wandered. A little less than a year ago, Béa agreed to let him take her on a date. They were still taking things slow, but Myrand had never seen Béa happier.

When she said yes, Myrand had known and fully understood that she and Thanatos would likely never have anything resembling a "normal" relationship. But watching Professor James take flowers to his beloved, and thinking of the way she'd seen him hold her as they danced on Hallow's Eve, Myrand's heart gave the slightest hint of ache. Her husband had brought her flowers, too, but had left them with her as he went to go kill countless people; and she couldn't touch him without dying.

She hadn't seen him for three days, and she decided then and there that three days would be her limit. She would go to see him. She missed him too much to do otherwise.

"What do you think, Rodney? You wanna go see Thanatos?" The hellhound raised his head, blood dripping from his muzzle, and then jumped up to his feet with a woof, his butt wiggling in excitement.

She laughed. "Me too, boy. But let's get you cleaned up first, okay? I'll go get some towels." Rodney tried to follow her inside, but she pushed him back. "Oh, no you don't. You track blood in here, and Béa will skin us both, and cover the stains with a nice hellhound rug. Stay, boy. I'll be right back."

He sat back on his haunches with an indignant huff, making a series of short barks that made it sound like he was grumbling. He was still in there, licking one of his paws and growling at passing students, when she came back out with the cloak Death had given her and a handful of hot, wet towels.

She chuckled, sitting down on the steps and patting her knee, calling him over. He clearly didn't enjoy it, but Rodney sat patiently as she scrubbed the blood from his paws and chin. When she was done, she burned the bloody towels, and he licked her face. "There now, all better. And what a good boy you are!" He woofed in agreement, and she laughed again. "Come on boy, let's go see my husband!"

He woofed again, running around in circles and once again growing to the side of a horse as she pulled Death's cloak over her head, to protect her from the chill. "Alright, alright! Easy there, you gotta sit still for me!" It took a lot of coaxing to get him settled enough for her to climb on his back—and even then it was a challenge, as his butt kept wiggling as he wagged his tail in excitement.

As soon as she was up and gripping the scruff of his neck, he was off, tearing through the grass and straight into the forest, wholly disregarding any idea of taking the road.

"Hey!" Myrand called, thinking of the shadow things that had taken the deer carcass. "Are you sure this way is safe?"

Rodney only barked at her, which she couldn't quite interpret. Just in case, she raised the hood of her cloak and pulled it tighter. She'd rarely journeyed off-campus—never alone until the night of the dance, as she'd never really had anywhere to go—and even rarer had she gone into the woods. Those few times, she'd never strayed from the road.

There were dangerous creatures in this wood, and she was glad Rodney could run so fast so she didn't have time to make out what she saw creeping in the shadows. Creatures slithered and flew and hopped out of their way; of all the dangers here, Rodney was still the greatest.

He carried her into a passage between two high, steep, rock cliffs. They were almost through it when they found their path blocked by the form of a slumbering golden cat, even larger than Rodney in his current state. He slid to a stop in front of it and growled; and when it raised it's head, Myrand saw that it had a woman's face.

A _sphinx_.

Myrand looked around, but the cliffs were close on either side, and too steep here to climb.

"There…issss no way around, little girl…" the sphinx hissed, stretching languidly. "You could go back the way you came, but I would chase you down and eat you and your little puppy." Rodney crouched down, growling ever louder, but the creature barely spared him a glance. "You may attempt my riddle instead. If you answer it correctly, I'll let you _passsssss_. But if you get it wrong…then I will eat you and your little puppy." She grinned, displaying too many rows of too many, too sharp teeth. "Would you like…to hear it?"

Myrand glanced at the ring on her left hand, knowing that Death wouldn't let anything happen to her, that he would be there in an instant if she called him. The knowledge filled her with courage. "I'm in no mood for games, cat. Get out of our way. We're going to see my husband."

The sphinx stood fully, leering over them, clearly annoyed at Myrand's lack of respect and fear. "_Do you have any idea what I am?_" she snarled.

Myrand sat tall, raising herself as high as she could get. "Do you have any idea who _we_ are?"

The sphinx snapped her teeth and growled, then froze when she leaned in too closely. "You have the ssssmell of death on you…"

Myrand chuckled, lowering her hood and pulling her collar aside, exposing the skin above her heart. She'd seen nothing in the mirror, and could feel nothing on her skin; but Hypnos had recognized her Mark, so surely this thing could, too. "Yeah. That would be my husband. We're going to see him. _Now get out of our way_."

The creature reeled back, snarled, and scrambled aside, pressing against the cliff to give them passage. "Get out of here, child, before I change my mind."

That was all the permission they needed, and Rodney took off, snapping at the sphinx as they passed. When they were clear of the valley, Myrand sighed. "The next person to call me a child is getting a mouthful of lightning, I swear it." Rodney woofed in agreement, but all she could hear was the echo of her mother's voice, "_It's okay to be a child sometimes…_"

She grimaced, gripping Rodney's neck even tighter. "This is not one of those times," she growled. That damned dream…

Myrand was shaken from her thoughts by the sound of a low, rhythmic 'thunk', growing increasingly louder as they hurried on. She looked ahead and began to see a clearing in the trees, and the outline of Thanatos' mansion, and she sighed in relief, finally easing the tension she'd been feeling all day. When Rodney carried her into the clearing and around to the back of the house, she saw the source of the noise.

Thanatos was there in the yard behind the house, chopping firewood…shirtless.

She could see the two nubs on his shoulder blades where his wings withdrew beneath his skin, the line of short spikes along his spine like the ridges on a dragon's back, and the flexing muscle of his arms and back as he raised the axe above his head and swung it down. He turned when he heard them approach, his eyes a pool of black devoid of any light, and the axe in his hands became a long, menacing scythe. …Rodney? Oh! Myrand!" Blue light sparked in his eyes upon recognition, filling his expression with warmth, and a faint, nervous smile graced his features. "…Hello. Is everything alright?"

"Everything's fine," she assured him, slipping (falling) from Rodney's back as the hellhound rushed forward to lick his master's face. "We just missed you, and decided to visit. Is that alright?"  
He chuckled, laying down his scythe and halfheartedly pushing Rodney away. "…Of course that's alright. This is your home now, my love; you are always welcome." He ruffled Rodney's fur, earning another round of earnest licks. "…I missed you both as well."

With the scythe and Rodney out of the way, Myrand was treated to a full view of her husband's chest, the expanse of gray skin and lean muscle, sparsely covered with white hair. His suspenders hung down by his thighs, and so his trousers hung low on his thin waist. Rodney barked at her, and she jumped and tore her eyes away, feeling heat rise to her cheeks and ears. She cleared her throat, pretending not to notice the way Death's lips pulled into a smirk or his eyes darkened to a purple light. "Umm, so Rodney killed a hart today, and ate most of it. He was a very good boy when I cleaned him of all the blood. He hardly complained or fidgeted at all!" The dog danced around, hopping and prancing proudly.

"Did he now?" Death hid his amusement, putting his hands on his hips and turning to Rodney. "Is this true?"

He nodded his head sharply with a woof.

"…Indeed." Thanatos placed a hand on Rodney's head. "…You have been a very good boy, haven't you? Good enough to earn a trip home, don't you think?" The hellhound woofed, and hopped, and spun around, and licked Thanatos' hand. "…I think so, too. Go on home. I'll come for you."

Butt wiggling in joy, Rodney gave Thanatos another lick, then hopped over to Myrand and nuzzled against her cheek.

She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck. "Don't worry, you sweet thing. I'll see you again soon enough." He pressed his cold nose to her cheek. With a last glance at Death, who nodded, Rodney vanished in a puff of black smoke.

Thanatos cocked his head to the side, and crossed his arms over his broad chest, watching Myrand with the hint of a smile on his face.

"When you say _home_…you mean the Underworld, don't you?"

"…Yes, that's where he's gone." He nodded; then, with a sigh, he glanced down at the pile of firewood. "…I just wish I had asked him to help carry this inside before he left. Oh, well." With a shrug, he bent and reached out to the wood, his gray skin stretching tight over lean muscle.

Myrand could feel the heat rising to her cheeks again. "Do you, umm… Could you possibly put a shirt on? You're very distracting."

His face fell, and he looked down at his bare chest. "…Oh. I'm sorry. Yes." He turned, and bent to retrieve his shirt from the grass where he must have dropped it.

She felt a pang of guilt. Did he think she was…disgusted? She stepped forward, hurrying to correct him. "It's just that… Greatness, you're handsome. I'd hate for my obituary to read, 'Myrand Oria died because she couldn't keep her hands off her husband.'"

He froze at her words, crouched down with one hand on his shirt. He rose slowly, pulling the shirt up with him and sliding his arms through the sleeves before he finally turned to look at her. "…You really mean that, don't you?"

In lieu of an answer, she stepped up close before him, taking his shirt in her hands and _very carefully _doing up the buttons for him. She had to take great care to not brush against his skin—and it was _so_ tempting—but when she reached the top button, she smoothed his collar out, tugged his suspenders over his arms and shoulders and back into place, and placed her hands on his chest. "I hate this. I hate that I can't touch you."

He sighed and hung his head, gripping the edges of her cloak. "…I am sorry to have forced such a burned on you."

She hit his chest with the heel of her hand. "Hey. You did not force _anything_ on me. This was as much my choice as yours, alright? I just need to remember that all this waiting is going to be worth it."

"…Oh, Myrand…" He raised his arms and wrapped them tightly around her. She let herself be pulled close, pressed against the hard muscle of his body, so full of promise of the pleasure to come. "…It will be _so_ worth it," he assured her, and she believed him.

She pressed her face to his chest to fight the desire to kiss him. Taking a deep breath, she pushed away. "Right. So. Firewood."

He rubbed her back soothingly, and then released her. "…Right." He bent, and scooped as much of the firewood into his arms as he could. Straightening up, he clicked his tongue against his sharp teeth. "…That reminds me, my mother dropped by earlier to give me…erm…_twenty pairs_ of gloves, with promise of more to come. She also brought some things for you. You wouldn't happen to know what spurred this, would you?"

Myrand laughed nervously, bending to carry a couple of logs herself. "I…only asked if she could make you _a_ pair of gloves. I think she got a bit carried away."

"…I see. Yes, she does that."

He looked a bit downtrodden again, and she wondered if he though she disliked the sight of his hands—which couldn't be further from the truth. She stepped up beside him, and bumped him with her hip. "I just wanted to be able to hold your hand," she murmured.

He blinked, and cleared his throat, and looked down at the logs in his arms. "…_Oh_. I have no idea how to respond to that. But…I am glad to hear it. I would like to hold yours, too."

Myrand grinned. Maybe one day, with enough positive reinforcement, he'd actually begin to believe her when she said she was in love with him. She expanded her magic out from her body—certain to brush up against her husband—and, with a wave of her hand, lifted the remaining chopped wood from the ground and carried it along behind her. "C'mon, let's take this inside."

He looked relieved at the change of subject. "…Alright. Follow me." He nudged and held the door open for her with his foot. She hadn't been to this part of the house yet, and looked around in wonder. The wide, dark room they entered was sparsely furnished. A wall of windows was covered with thick curtains. The far wall to her left was taken up entirely by an enormous fireplace. Death strode over to it, kneeling and placing the firewood inside. He gestured for her to come near, and she sent her logs floating over to him. With a smirk, he plucked them out of the air one at a time and set them with the others.

"You don't use magic often, do you?"

"Hmm? …Oh. No, not often."

"Why not?"

He shrugged. "…My magic is not like yours. I've been around long enough to pick up a few tricks, but most of what I can do is centered on allowing me to do my job." He glanced over his shoulder at her. "…You are still quite young, and magic, like all of life, holds a sense of novelty for you. But when you live—well, I'm not really alive… When you're around for as long as I've been, that novelty fades." With a sigh, he picked four logs up and stood, leading her out of the back room and into a hallway. "…I like doing things without magic. It's refreshing. Chopping woods helps clear my mind… It's better than chopping _souls_…"

Myrand laughed, and then clapped a hand over her mouth, knowing that probably wasn't something she should laugh at. Thanatos glanced at her, his mouth quirked to hide a smile. They turned a corner, and stepped into the spacious front entrance hall, where she had first stumbled into his home. She noticed that it was distinctly cleaner than the last time she'd been there; the wood floors, bannisters, and doors had all been polished to a shine, reflecting the sunlight that poured in through the now grime-free windows. He didn't acknowledge the difference, so neither did she, but she couldn't subdue her smile.

Their relationship may not be a normal one, but that didn't lessen the love she felt for this man.

Thanatos led her into the sitting room, where she had dried off from the rain on Hallow's Eve. He knelt before this fireplace as well, and set the wood inside. Myrand sat down on the couch, watching him fish through his pockets for a box of matches and light a fire.

"How old _are_ you, Thanatos?"

He held his hands out to the heat of the flames and shrugged. "…Time does not mean the same to me as it does to you." He stood and joined her on the couch, instinctively wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. "…Relative to the other gods, Hypnos and I are considered rather young. I know that does not tell you very much. Suffice it to say that I've been around since the first of men, before Creos."

She frowned, pulling away form him enough to look him in the eye. "_Before_ Creos? What does that mean?"

"Uhh…" His eyes grew wide, and he released her and stood, walking quickly across the room to an enormous chest. "…Here are those things my mother brought for you."

"Don't change the subject!"

"I'm not… I'm avoiding the subject entirely." He opened the chest and looked over his shoulder at her. "Do you want to see these or not?"

She chewed her lip, thinking. He was being so shifty, that there _had_ to be something important behind it. But this was Death, her oldest friend. Her _husband_. And if he was keeping secrets from her, she knew there had to be a damn good reason why.

And besides, he'd said that Nyx had made clothes for her, and she was itching to see what the goddess of Night had brought. "Fine." She hopped off the couch and approached the chest. "But this doesn't mean I've forgotten what you said."

"…Certainly not." Thanatos gestured into the deep wooden chest with a smirk. "…This is all for you. I think she liked you very much."

"Greatness, _all_ of this is for me?" The chest was overflowing with lengths of dark fabrics, in deep blues and dusky purples and burnt reds—and _so many_ blacks and grays—all of the colors of the night sky. She knelt beside the chest, digging through the cool, soft cloth and pulling out seemingly endless articles: flowing dresses and scarves, shorts and trousers and skirts, blouses and sweaters… There were even _socks_ in there, all of varying lengths and thicknesses. "Thanatos, I… This is more clothing than I currently own. A _lot_ more. What… How did she even know my sizes?"

So distracted was she by her new wardrobe, that she didn't notice him perch on the edge of the chest, and pull on a pair of black gloves. She didn't notice at all, until she felt a touch against her cheek and neck. She gasped when he brushed a curl out of her face; and when he leaned forward, his eyes taking on a reddish hue that turned them purple, and raked his fingers through her hair, she had to bite her lip to suppress a moan.

He slid from the chest and knelt beside her, holding her face in both hands, touching every bit of the skin of her cheeks and neck, dipping his fingers beneath the collar of her cloak and shirt. Her heart was racing; his breaths were labored. She wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and melt into a puddle on the floor, let him touch her for real, let him kill her so she could be done with all this waiting and just be with him, forever. But his gaze kept her riveted, the way his eyes devoured the skin that was revealed to him, the intensity with which he watched her reaction to every gentle touch.

And then his fingertips dipped too low beneath her collar, brushing up against her Mark. It wasn't exactly pain, and it was more than just heat… Some sharp sensation pierced straight through her, knocking her back, forcing the air out of her lungs so she couldn't even cry out in surprise. When she opened her eyes (not even knowing when she'd closed them), Thanatos had pulled back two full lengths away from her, eyes blue again and wide, his hands balled into fists.

"Are you alright, Myr?" he demanded, without hesitation.

She blinked a few times, breathing deeply. "Yeah. I'm fine. Just…wow. What was that?"

She heard his knuckles pop as he squeezed his fists even tighter. "…I… I do not know… Obviously, I've never… I've never marked anyone before, so I'm not…totally certain of the restrictions."

"Okay." She reached up, rubbing the space. There was still no pain, just a lingering tingle beneath her skin. "Did… Did you feel that, too? Or was it just me?"

"…Yes, I felt it as well." He lurched to his feet, hanging his head and turning away from her. "…I'm sorry, Myrand. I should have been more careful. It's just… I just wanted to have the chance to touch you, before…"

She frowned, rising to her feet and approaching him. "…Before _what_..?"

It took a long time for him to finally turn and face her. "…Before you come to hate me," he whispered.

She shook her head no. "I could never—"

"You will," he assured, the light in his eyes fading away, leaving him with inky pools of black again. "…I…intended to come find you today, to let you know what I must do. I must go to work soon… I must _kill someone_ soon… And you will hate me for it."

Myrand's mind was wheeling, trying to think of who it could possibly be. Everyone she knew was at school, and the school was protected from death's effects. Everyone except…

Oh, Great One…

"No… No, not… Not Granny Fero. Tell me it's not Granny?"

Thanatos turned away from her quickly. "…I am so sorry…"

It took her a moment to wrap her mind around it. It wasn't possible! She'd just prayed for Granny, just a few days ago! And Armand…

Oh, good Greatness, _Armand_…

She screwed her eyes shut tightly, holding back the sharp sting of tears, and took a deep, shaky breath. When she opened them again, Thanatos still had his back to her and his head bowed in shame. Her dear husband…

She stepped forward and took his hand in both of hers, prying his fingers open, feeling and learning the contours of his palms and fingers. She raised it to her lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, and then rested her forehead against the back of his hand, unable to look him in the eye. "_I could never hate you_," she ground out, wishing she could make him believe it. "I am…upset, and sad, and…angry. But it is _not_ your fault, and I love you, and I always will."

He did not move and did not speak, and when she finally looked up, his eyes were screwed closed and his mouth was pressed into a thin line.

"Will you let me come with you?"

His eyes snapped open, shining blue light, and his brow creased in confusion. "…What?"

"I want to be there. I don't want her to be alone. Please, let me come?"

He raised his free hand and placed it on her cheek. "…Of course you can come, my love. I could never deny you anything. But I must go soon."

She nodded, leaning against his hand. "Okay. I'm ready."

He nodded, pulling his hands away from her. "…Let me go get my things."

She followed him up the stairs and through the library and to his bedroom, perching on the edge of his bed and watching as he got dressed. He buttoned up his waistcoat and slipped into his jacket, wrapped his sword belt around his waist, pulled a cloak over his chest. He took a deep breath, and his flesh vanished, and his enormous black wings sprouted from his back.

No matter what she was feeling (and she still wasn't entirely certain), she couldn't help but grin at the sight of the skeleton that had been her childhood friend. He approached and knelt before her, holding his hand out to her, the fabric of his glove now hanging loose around his bony hand. "…Are you sure you want to go?"

She nodded, placing her hand in his, and he stood and pulled her up with him. He wrapped his arms around her and leaned in close. "…Hold on tight," he murmured, and she threw her arms around him, feeling his magic crawl over her skin and wrap around her body. This time, when the black smoke took Thanatos away, it took her with him.

* * *

Myrand stood outside of Stavos General Hospital, holding the skeletal hand of the god of Death. She had been there many times before, accompanying Armand to visit his grandmother. Granny had married in to magic but had none herself, and had chosen to be treated at a hospital rather than a healing clinic. She and Armand had been something akin to dating when she was first admitted, and he had never been to a hospital before, so she agreed to go with him, and continued to go with him every time he asked her to.

Thanatos turned to look at her, and she nodded and let him lead her inside.

"Can they see you?" she muttered as they passed through the front doors.

"…No, I'm sorry. If you're seen talking to me, it will appear as if you're talking to yourself."

She nodded discretely, weaving her fingers through his and holding on tight.

"Excuse me, may I help you?" A male nurse approached, looking concerned.

"Oh! Uhh, no, we're—I mean, I'm just here to see Granny—I mean, Ennaline Fero," she told him, fumbling over her words. She had forgotten how strange it was to have Death standing right beside her, when no one else could see him.

The nurse's expression softened into a broad grin. "Right, yeah. I, uh… I've seen you around before." He took a few more steps closer, ignorant to the sound of Thanatos growling beside her. "You're usually here with a guy, aren't you? Her grandson?"

"Yeah, that's, uh… That's my friend Armand."

His grin widened even further. He was classically handsome, with tan skin and light brown hair and bit, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle as he smiled at her. "Just a friend, huh?"

Death's growling grew louder, and his free hand went to the hilt of his sword. Myrand tugged on his hand, beginning to sidestep the nurse. "Yeah… Look, I really need to go see Granny…"

"Right! Yeah!" He scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I'll let you go. But, uh, my name's Barda; if you need anything at all, just have them page me. I'll be glad to help."

"Right, okay," she muttered, trying to make it look like she wasn't dragging her snarling, cursing husband away.

"Hey, wait! What's your name?" the man called, but she kept going as if she hadn't heard him—and she truly almost didn't, over all of the despicable things Thanatos was calling him.

They turned a corner and headed up the stairs, out of Barda's sight as Thanatos fumed. When they finally found themselves in an empty hallway, she raised his hand to her lips and gave him a kiss. "He can't hear or see you, babe."

"…I know. Still feels good to say it."

"You are so cute when you're jealous," she murmured.

He turned to her, as if about to say something, when a woman burst out into the hallway. Myrand intended to just brush past her, but Thanatos pulled to a complete stop.

"_What the hell do you think you're doing here_?" the woman snapped. "_Get out!_"

Myrand looked around in bewilderment, but Thanatos simply cocked his head to the side, his shoulders rigid and stiff. "…Hello, Aruvell. It is good to see you, too." The door the woman had come out of burst open again, and they were joined in the hallway by…_Hypnos?_ "…Ah, brother. I thought you might be near."

Sleep laughed. "When Aru ran off and started yelling, I figured it must be you, brother. Oh! Hello to you as well, sister!"

Myrand waved, smiling even though she had no idea what was going on. The woman whirled and gaped at her, as if she just now noticed she was alive. "Did you say _sister?_"

Thanatos sighed heavily. "…Myrand, this is Aruvell. Her father is Asclepius. Aruvell, this is Myrand, my wife."

The woman gasped and spluttered, for a moment too startled to speak. "Your _wife_?! What sort of…_power-hungry slut_ would agree to marry _you_?"

Thanatos and Myrand both advanced on her in tandem, his free hand returning to the hilt of his sword, hers balling into a fist and sparking with electricity.

"_Never say such things about my wife again_."

"Don't you talk about my man like that!"

Hypnos stepped between them, holding his hands up for peace. "Easy, okay, yeah. Why don't we all take this somewhere that's _not_ in the hallway where anyone can see us, yeah?"

Aruvell snarled and placed herself in front of the door she'd come from. "I'm not letting him anywhere near them."

Myrand took a closer look, and saw that that door led to the nursery, where rows of newborn babies lay in their cribs—some slumbering peacefully, others staring up at this strange, new world in wonder, and a few crying.

Thanatos snapped his sharp teeth together with a 'clack', growling lowly. "…I have a job to do," he spat, "and it doesn't involve your precious _children_. At least, not_ yet_. Come along, Myrand."

He tugged on her hand, leading her down the hallway, as Hypnos tried to usher Aruvell back into the nursery. "It was good to see you again, sweet Myrand!" Hypnos called.

"You too!" she called, waving over her shoulder. She led Thanatos lead her through the children's wing and deeper into the hospital, giving him silence until it seemed like he was done fuming. "So, are you going to tell me what that was about?"

He sighed, his shoulders sagging, finally releasing some of that tension. "…Asclepius is a fool with many mortal children, and all of them hate me. Aruvell works specifically with newborns, infants, and young children, so she hates me even more than the others. I have tried to be cordial, but she is…infuriating."

"And Hypnos? What's he doing here?"

"…Ah. My brother gives newborns their first taste of sleep. Then, as they grow older, they are able to do it without his assistance. He and Aruvell have become…friends…since their work so often coincides."

"I see."

Thanatos released her hand, just long enough to reach up and rub her back, and then slipped it back into hers and wove his long, sharp fingers through hers. "…So… I am your 'man', then?"

Myrand chuckled, bumping him with her hip as they turned another corner. "Of course you are."

"…Hmm…" He straightened his shoulders again. "…Good."

They walked in silence the rest of the way, until they final reached the ICU and Granny Fero's room.

"…Are you sure you want to go in?" Thanatos asked with his hand on the door. "…It is entirely up to you."

Myrand fidgeted, running a hand through her hair. "I have to."

"…Very well." He turned the handle and let her in.

The room smelled as sterile and clean and awful as always, so very different from the comforting scents of flowers and crackling fireplaces and warm, tasty soup that were so characteristic of healing clinics. Granny was alone in the room and asleep in the bed when they entered; but when Myrand stepped away from Thanatos, sat down in the chair at her bedside, and reached out for her hand, she opened her eyes with a sweet grin.

"Myrand! Oh, darling, it is always so good to see you. It's been so long! Is my grandson with you?"

"I'm afraid not, Granny. Armand is still at school."

"I see. Well, that's good. That boy spends too much time worrying about his old granny, and not enough focusing on his schooling, or on that silly boyfriend of his. Who's your friend, Myrand, over by the door?"

Myrand followed her gaze to Thanatos, who approached slowly, his long, black cloak flowing behind him. "You can see him?"

Granny laughed at the question, giving Myrand's hand a shake. "Of course I can, sweet girl. I am dying, after all, aren't I? That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Myrand bit her lip, trying desperately not to cry, so Thanatos answered for her. "…Yes. Hello, Ennaline."

"Hello, Death. It's about time you got here."

He chuckled, the flesh and skin returning to his body to show off a sheepish grin. "…I apologize. We got hung up on the way here."

"Oh, that's alright. It gave me more time to prepare. My, you're a handsome one, aren't you? Myrand, don't you think he's handsome?"

She could feel her face flush deeply, but nodded all the same. "Yes, I do. In fact, Granny, I've agreed to marry him."

"Have you now?" A joyous grin spread across her too-thin face, and she patted Myrand's hand heartily. "Oh, Myrand, that's lovely. I always wished things could have worked out for you and Armand, but since they didn't, all I want is to see you both happy. I know Armand is happy with his Keto, so just promise me you'll be happy, too?"

Myrand grinned. "I promise, Granny."

"Good, good. It is not every girl who gets to marry a god, you know? I always knew you were special." She trained a sharp eye on Thanatos. "And you, sir, had better promise to treat her well, and make sure she _stays_ happy, do you hear me?"

He bowed his head, without a hint of humor or sarcasm in his features. "…I promise. I will do my best."

"Wonderful!" Granny laughed. "In that case, I think I'm ready to go. Myrand, watch over Armand for me. Don't let him listen to that mother of his." Myrand nodded in agreement, so Granny turned to Death. "Will I get to see my husband, do you know?"

Thanatos drew near, unsheathing his sword. "…Marin has been waiting for you, Ennaline. I don't usually offer this, but you are a friend of my wife's; if you would like, I will carry you there myself, and bring you right to him."

Granny's eyes lit up, brighter than Myrand had ever seen them, at the thought of seeing her husband again. "Oh, would you? That would be just lovely. Could Myrand come, too?"

Thanatos drew back in surprise, and then turned to his wife. "…If you would like to come, my Myr, you are most welcome. And I know Persephone has been wanting to meet you."

Myrand stood to her feet, nodding. "If Granny wants me to be there, I will not miss it for anything."

"Then what are we waiting for? Let's go," Granny commanded.

Obedient, Thanatos removed one of his gloves and grabbed her hand. Granny sighed, her eyes drifting closed, and Thanatos drew his sword across her neck, passing it through her flesh and bone without making a single scratch. Then he returned the sword to its sheath and pulled Granny's soul out of the bed, leaving her body behind.

Myrand had always sort of pictured souls as some sort of misty, cold, ghostly spirit; but this was nothing like that. She was naked, and glowing with a bright, golden light, so warm that she filled the room with heat. She appeared youthful, and healthy, and well, but at the same time looked exactly as Myrand had known her, with laugh lines and sagging skin and all the telltale signs of age. But when she looked at her again, she saw a golden, glowing child, laughing with Granny's laugh and grinning with Granny's grin.

Thanatos picked her up and carried her in his arms as if she weighed no more than a feather. Then he came over to her side of the bed. "…You'll need to hold on to me again, my love," he informed her.

With one last look at the body that had once housed Armand's beautiful, kind grandmother, Myrand wrapped her arms tightly around her husband's waist, letting his magic engulf her once more as they vanished from the hospital, traveling to the Underworld.


End file.
